Dinky Aurors
by almanera
Summary: We all know that Harry wanted to become an Auror, but was there anyone else at Hogwarts who entertained similar ambitions? Meet Fay Dunbar, Harry's fellow Gryffindor. It's alright if you don't happen to recall that name. Fay is a quiet observer who likes to keep a low profile.
1. Chapter 1: Meet Fay

_Autumn term, 1996_

The last few days at the Burrow had been as good as they could possibly have been under the circumstances. Harry had been sad to leave the place. He waved until the train had turned a corner and Mr and Mrs Weasley were lost to view, then turned to see where the others had got to. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen; Harry suspected they had already headed for the Prefects' carriage. Ginny still lingered nearby, though. Without thinking twice, he approached her.

"Fancy trying to find a compartment?"

"I can't, Harry, I said I'd meet Dean," said Ginny brightly. "See you later."

"Right," said Harry.

He felt a strange twinge of annoyance as she walked away, her long red hair dancing behind her. It didn't help that he was surrounded by countless mesmerized girls, all of whom were gaping and gawping at him. Harry had suspected all along he would not be able to escape the fame which accompanied his stupid title of the _Chosen One_, yet his assumptions had done little to prepare him for the unpleasant sensation of being in the constant spotlight. Anxious to avoid the other students' prying looks, he stepped into the first—seemingly—empty compartment.

"Charm your hair blond and don't face the glass door," a bossy voice suggested from behind him.

Harry spun around, perplexed. "Excuse me?"

The compartment he had hurriedly entered already contained an occupant. It was a girl. Harry noticed at once she was wearing a Gryffindor tie. She had to be either in his year or in a year below, though he had the impression he had hardly ever seen her at Hogwarts.

She was tall and possessed regular features, sober grey eyes, and mousy hair. There was something very stern about her, as though she were related to Professor McGonagall.

"Judging by the way you burst into this compartment, I'd say you were trying to avoid unnecessary attention," the girl elaborated. "The easiest way to misdirect whomever you're unwilling to confront is to quickly alter your appearance— a coat and a simple charm on your hair will do. Just try not to come too close to the compartment doors: otherwise they'll see your face."

Harry stared at her.

"You should be all right, really," the girl said with a small smile. "I promise I won't go yelling about your whereabouts."

Harry nodded, his eyes still fixed on her. Their silence was becoming a little uncomfortable. He ought to say something, he knew he ought to, but he had no idea what. He would have liked to know her name, yet this would reveal that he had never paid attention to her, even though they had definitely shared the same Common Room for years.

Gingerly, he sat down opposite her. At that very moment, he spotted the title of the novel she was reading.

"Are you a Muggle-born?" he asked curiously.

She smiled again. "No, I'm not, but this shouldn't imply I don't admire great thinkers. Solving riddles requires more than considerable deductive abilities and a brilliant magical skill. As a future Auror, I need to be both open-minded and aware of the numerous possibilities and tricks the dark minds rely on."

"You want to become an Auror?" Harry questioned with interest.

"It's been my childhood dream ever since I can remember," she admitted, her voice softening slightly before she caught herself. "Anyway, I can tell just by looking at you that you recently spent a healthy amount of time somewhere near Devonshire."

"I spent the last few weeks of the holidays in Ottery St Catchpole," Harry admitted, nonplussed. "How did you know?"

"In the same way as I know that you've been wearing loose clothes lately," the girl said. "The fertile red soil on your shoes can only be found in Devonshire. As to how I knew you'd spent more than one day in the said location, it's simple: you keep tugging at your tie as if you found it restrictive. In a few days, the tie will feel like a second skin, but now it feels invasive because you must have been wearing something more comfortable."

She had a certain enthusiasm about her. It reminded Harry of Hermione's enthusiasm whenever his friend was given the chance to explain some complicated topic only she understood. For the first time, Harry had the perfect opportunity to form his own observations about the girl. She obviously didn't have many friends who shared her passion for Auror work, hence she seized the opportunity when it came.

"All right, that was easy," Harry agreed. "But you might as well have been wrong. Devonshire is not the only place on earth with such type of soil."

"Of course!" the girl exclaimed, apparently not offended in the slightest. "It is essential for an Auror to have good observation skills, but being prepared to accept that his or her assumptions might be erroneous is just as important."

"I see." Harry smiled. "But why Devonshire and not some other place?"

"Well, considering the mild intensity of your tan, I thought you must have spent your summer in England; your tan would have been much more pronounced if you had stayed on the continent during this time of the year. But there was also this reddish dust typical of the sandstone, so I narrowed the possible locations down to the South West of England. And… um... I got lucky as well," she finished, somewhat lamely.

"Do you analyse _everybody_ like this?" Harry inquired, starting to feel amused.

"You know what? Let's try it," she proposed to his utter bewilderment.

Without waiting for his reply, she put her book down and bolted towards the compartment door.

"Wha—"

"Shhh…" she insisted. "Observe the people on the train…"

Feeling sceptical, Harry peered out, careful not to be spotted by any of the admiring girls. To his great annoyance, however, his gaze landed on Ginny and Dean, who were walking hand in hand. Ginny was laughing as she spoke to him, and her delicate fingers were playing with one of her fiery locks of hair.

"She's lying," the girl commented suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"My observation leads me to believe that the girl with the long red hair is being deceitful. As you can see, she is leaning her head back, touching her lips and hair, avoiding direct eye contact with the boy and looking to her right instead—these are all the tell-tale signs of lying the girls usually exhibit."

"Ginny is not deceitful!" Harry countered coldly.

All at once, he no longer liked this girl or her obsession with logical deductions.

His frosty tone did not escape her notice. She turned her sober grey eyes to his green ones and looked at him very attentively, her mouth a comical 'O' of surprise. Her posture had shifted into a defensive stance.

"I'm certain of my observations," she said. "Watching human behaviour is easier than deducing people's motives because it doesn't require such variety of knowledge. However, it was not my intention to insult your friend. What I meant to say is that she wasn't being truthful while flirting with that boy, which is logical when you think about it: people often exaggerate when they flirt, since they want to appear in the best possible light."

After this clarification, they gaped at each other. Harry was not entirely appeased. He didn't like it when someone attacked his friends, even though it was understood the girl had not meant to insult Ginny.

"I bet your observations get you in a lot of trouble," he said at last.

"Oh, all the time. Especially with Slytherins."

Harry's bad temper evaporated at this statement. He had a fair idea what the girl might have said to the snakes on occasions.

"Err... I'm Harry…," he said awkwardly, realising that they still hadn't introduced themselves to each other.

"I'm Fay. Fay Dunbar," she answered. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Harry dared another glance at her straight face and clear grey eyes. He had never met anyone quite like her. Luna and Hermione, although exceptionally perceptive, were very different.

He could tell her… Unlike his friends, she would understand. He would have to be cautious so that she wouldn't guess he was talking about Malfoy, but it was worth a try. Maybe if he presented his suspicions as a _hypothetical __case_, she would give him some insight into the matter.

_Well, it never hurts to try,_ he thought.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

It later occurred to Harry that there was far more to Auror work than he had previously thought.

* * *

**AN**: Fay Dunbar is not JKR's creation, but a creation of a company who produces video games based on Harry Potter franchise. Notwithstanding, when I accidentally stumbled upon this character I was thrilled. A Gryffindor girl who wants to become an Auror has so much potential, don't you agree? Not to mention that writing such a character gives an opportunity to explore a different kind of intelligence. So, keeping that all in mind, I decided to give it a try. I hope you like it.

Special thanks goes to the amazing **Tarpeia **for beta-reading.


	2. Chapter 2: Collaboration

As the week progressed, Harry's stress levels didn't diminish in the slightest. To make matters even worse, Snape had been appointed their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

What had Dumbledore been thinking? The man lived and breathed Dark magic, spoke of it with a loving caress in his voice…

Harry paused and took a deep breath. To add to his strain, Fay Dunbar's behaviour was completely impossible to read. The previous afternoon, he had met the girl for the second time as they were having their first Potions class with Slughorn, but she had completely ignored him.

Shortly before this class, Harry had received a note from Professor Dumbledore, according to which their lessons would start the following Saturday. He, Ron, and Hermione had spent their lunchtime speculating what Dumbledore would probably be teaching Harry. They had been finishing their discussion when the bell had rung, alerting them it was time to head for their classrooms.

Once they had descended to the dungeons, they had found out there were only about a dozen people progressing to the N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had manifestly failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins including Malfoy had made it. There had also been four Ravenclaws waiting next to Ernie from Hufflepuff, and… Fay. The latter had been standing in a corner by herself and furiously scribbling into her notebook, her eyebrows knit together in concentration.

"Harry," Ernie had said portentously as soon as he'd spotted him, holding out his hand to the raven-haired teen, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defence Against the Dark Arts today. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags... And how are you, Ron—Hermione?"

Harry had briefly wondered where Ernie had got his pompousness from, but there hadn't been time to ponder this question; in fact, he wasn't sure whether Ron or Hermione had even had the chance to answer. He had been about to make his way to Fay when the dungeon doors had opened and Slughorn's belly had swum into view. The rest of the lesson had been too exciting for him to be able to chat with her, so it hadn't been until this evening that he decided to track her down.

He found her in the library.

"Fay?" he said.

The girl held up a hand to indicate that she could not be interrupted. Her gaze never left the parchment.

Harry waited, but all too soon, curiosity got the better of him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking in her piece of parchment covered with long sequences of letters, her magnifying glass, and her book resembling a Muggle detective novel.

"Did you know that the prevalent cause of death among Aurors is plain carelessness?" she intoned.

"Err—"

"Well, it is, and it seems to be fatal to both wizards and Muggles alike. For instance, there was this detective—which is kind of a Muggle version of the P.I.—who was able to locate a suspect in a particular part of London by the stripes embedded in that man's leather shoes. This mistake cost the criminal his freedom. Now, the funny thing is that most wizards would be just as careless in this situation as that Muggle. Who bothers to clean their shoes, who takes the time to go through such details? I was thinking of creating a quick cleaning spell; something so simple could literally save a life—"

"_Creating_ a spell?" Harry inquired, feeling overwhelmed.

"Well, yes, it's not like they're teaching us any simple household spells anyway, so I thought I could create one of my own."

"But... can you _do_ that?"

"Of course," the girl assured, apparently unable to understand the essence of his question. "Every witch and wizard can create new spells or wards. You can use special Runes for this."

"How come I didn't know this before?" Harry's exclamation was addressed more to himself than Fay.

"Well, do you take Ancient Runes?"

"Err... not exactly, no. I didn't know what to choose at the time, so I... settled for Divination."

"Oh... that's not good…"

"Listen, Fay, what I really wanted to talk to you about is that... case. You know, the one we discussed on the train."

Harry leaned forward; the library was almost deserted, yet there was no telling if someone was eavesdropping. To his amazement and horror, however, Fay's kind, enthusiastic expression morphed into one of coldness and hostility.

Not bothering to answer, the girl shoved all her things into her bag, stood up, and pushed past Harry, heading for the exit.

"Fay! Fay, wait!" Harry sped after her, panting. "What did I do wrong?"

At this, she turned and looked him straight in the eye. When she spoke again, he had a bizarre feeling, as if she were withholding something from him.

"Look, Harry, you might find my interests unconventional, and you are entitled to your opinion. But you certainly don't have to make fun of me!"

Harry's jaw dropped.

_Merlin's beard, where did she get that idea?_

His confusion must have shown, for Fay's determination faltered.

"Um... do you… You haven't any idea what I'm talking about, have you?" she asked slowly.

"Clearly I haven't," he admitted.

"I'm sorry, Harry. You see, I usually keep a low profile, but... some people still think I'm slightly touched in the head, so when you didn't return afterwards, I thought you might have made everything up, you know…"

"Why would I do that?" Harry asked, perplexed. "I didn't return because I'd been invited to Slughorn's compartment... "

"Don't mention it; I've had some bad experience—let's just forget about it. Better tell me, this _hypothetical case_ we've discussed—is it about Draco Malfoy?"

"How did you guess?"

"I happened to pass a group of Slytherins just as he was making a rather crude joke about breaking someone's nose. Then Snape escorted you to the Great Hall, and you had blood on your face… I instantly remembered it had been I who'd suggested that you should spy on the suspect."

Harry scowled. It wasn't her fault—he would have gone after Malfoy one way or another—but Fay's words had brought back all the emotions he had experienced that evening as he'd lain there, unable to move a muscle beneath his Invisibility Cloak and feeling the hot blood from his broken nose flow over his face…

"Boasted, didn't he?" he muttered in spite of himself. "Figures…"

Fay didn't let him brood too long, though. "If we really are going to do this, you will have to be completely honest with me. It's the only way to avoid misunderstandings."

_Well, with Ron and Hermione absent, there's nothing to lose, _Harry mentally agreed.

That night, he and Fay Dunbar agreed on a collaboration, which was sealed by the passing ghost of Fat Friar, their witness.

When Harry entered the Gryffindor Common Room – Fay had returned earlier – he finally had something else to think about, aside from the notes found in his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

* * *

**Author's note**: our dinky Aurors are starting the 'Operation Malfoy', which means that next chapter should have some more action. Thank you all for giving this story a chance and be sure to leave some more reviews. Reviews make the author happy.

Special thank you goes to **Tarpeia** for beta reading.


	3. Chapter 3: Mission Malfoy

Saturday finally arrived, and Harry started his first weekend of the year by lazily examining his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. He had been wondering who the Half-Blood Prince could have been. After skimming through the book, he realized there was barely a page the Prince had not written additional notes on. He also noticed these notes weren't related only to potion-making; the Prince had manifestly been inventing spells and incantations of his own.

"Or _her_ own," said Hermione irritably, having overheard Harry point out some of the notes to Ron. "It might have been a girl. I think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

"You're wrong, Harry is right—it's clearly a boy's handwriting," a brisk voice intervened.

Harry turned around on the spot. Fay Dunbar was standing right behind them, her mousy brown hair woven into an elegant side plait. She looked perkier than Harry had yet seen her; it was obvious she was in a good mood.

"If you look closely, you'll see that the tail of _p_ in the word _spoor_ is made of a straight line. It's a typical thing for a boy to do. Another big giveaway is the lack of convexity in the shapes of 'm' and 'n'; they're concave. In fact, it's almost impossible to tell his _m's_ and _n's_ apart from his _w's_ and _v's_. Lastly, the whole text slants heavily to the right and is very small. This indicates that the author of the notes was right handed and had semi-long hair—long enough to obscure his vision, but not long enough to be gathered in a ponytail. This hairstyle was popular among boys about two decades ago." Fay paused to catch her breath. "You know, I'm surprised—aren't you supposed to be Muggle-born, Hermione Granger? And you're famous for being really smart, so how come that you don't know anything about graphology? It's a Muggle science. A French Muggle named Jean-Hippolyte Michon founded a group called _Société Graphologique_ in 1871—"

"And it has been long since proven that graphology isn't a reliable method to assess the author's personality or determine the author's gender. The only thing that can safely be deducted from a written text is the level of the author's education," Hermione snapped, her tone remarkably cold. "And as to Muggle methodology, then nowadays it is rather about qualitative chemical analysis, which has nothing to do with graphology. But naturally, I can imagine that someone like you has a very limited—"

"Hey, Fay, didn't you want to know about the Quidditch try-outs?" Harry invented quickly to salvage the situation.

He only hoped Fay would get the hint—if she didn't, her conversation with Hermione would most probably end in nothing short of a bloodbath.

"What?" Fay asked, confused. "Oh, yes! I... well... I want to be the new Gryffindor Keeper."

"Keeper?!" Ron cut in, having recovered for his trance. "You can't be a Keeper!"

"Why not?"

"Well, you're scrawny—Keepers must be strong, and you... well... look at you, you're—"

"Indeed, Weasley," a new voice drawled behind them. "Someone strong, broad-shouldered, just like good old Wood was, but... better, if you know what I mean."

The speaker was revealed to be a robust wire-haired youth whom everybody immediately recognised as Cormac McLaggen.

"Evening, Potter; I see that you remember me. We've met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment. I'm here to invite you over to our corner—"

"Oh, dear, your observation skills are appalling, Cormac! Harry Potter is obviously not interested in your invitation—look at his body language: his shoulders are tense, he's subconsciously trying to create some distance between the two of you—"

Fay looked positively sympathetic as she enumerated the clues, much like a teacher explaining two plus two equalled four to a rather slow child.

"Fairy!" Cormac burst out laughing as he took her in. "Oh, Merlin, is that really you? Look, you guys, Fairy is… ahem... Loony's distant cousin, if you get my drift. But if she's bothering you—"

Harry suppressed a groan. Fay and McLaggen had joined them at the worst moment imaginable.

"Did you want anything else besides extending your invitation, McLaggen?" he asked, glaring daggers at the other boy. "Because my answer is no, I'm very busy."

"Well, if you change your mind, Potter—Gryffs have to stay together, you know…"

He strutted away.

"Who the hell he thinks he is?" Ron muttered angrily. "And this Fairy, too…"

"Ron!" Hermione breathed just as Ron realised that Fay had not stalked away when McLaggen had, but had remained standing on her spot.

Before Ron had a chance to say anything, however, Harry had stood up.

"So, Fay, would you like me to help you choose a broom?" he improvised again. "You know, since you don't have one at the moment…"

To his immense relief, Fay was quicker this time. "Oh, yes, school brooms are so bad... eh... um... let's go then."

They existed the Common Room, well aware of Hermione and Ron's questioning gazes burning into their backs.

"What is it?" Harry whispered as soon as they set out through a series of empty halls.

"It's just that I'm so excited: it's my first case, and I've always wanted to be an Auror!"

"Err... Fay... was that _really _all you wanted to tell me?"

"Of course not! Listen, Harry, we have to discuss so many things. First and foremost, we have to be professional about this—you're the first client of Auror Fay," the girl started enthusiastically. "We have to decide when and how often we are going to arrange our meetings. Also, it's necessary to establish the best possible approach for our mission... We have to find out everything we can about Draco Malfoy's plans. Luckily for us, I already have an idea."

"Here's what we do," Harry proposed, thinking it over. "Right now, I have an appointment which might last for two hours. Afterwards—if you agree—we'll meet in the girls' bathroom on the first floor, all right?"

"Girls' bathroom on the first floor?" Fay repeated, her grey eyes growing wide. "The one that is haunted by Moaning Myrtle?"

"The very same," Harry confirmed.

"All right, we'll meet there. Oh, but now I'll really need that broom…"

"Don't worry, we'll think of something," the boy assured her again before adding, in the spur of the moment, "Auror Fay..."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Monday morning of the following week didn't turn out to be nearly as pleasant. The story of Merope Gaunt that Harry had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve weighed heavily on his mind, and the exponentially growing amount of school work didn't help the matters.

Nonverbal spells were now expected of them not only in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration as well. Harry honestly wasn't surprised to see many of his classmates suddenly turn purple, a rather painful expression on their faces, as if they had overdosed on U-No-POO; he knew they were trying to master nonverbal magic just as much as he did. At least Potions weren't going to be a problem this year.

One of the results of this hectic routine was that Harry, Ron and Hermione had been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. Even Harry's secret meetings with Fay were difficult to arrange.

While Harry reflected on this point, Hermione spoke, and it was as though she had just used Legilimency, for her train of thought matched his own.

"We've got to go and explain," she said in exasperation. "Hagrid has stopped coming to the Great Hall for breakfast, it's an ominous sign."

"And he pretends not to notice our greetings," Harry agreed, his brows furrowed.

"Sure, but not now—we've got Quidditch try-outs!" Ron reminded them. "Besides, what's there to explain? We can't tell him that we used to hate his subject…"

"We didn't hate it, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Speak for yourself; _I_ haven't forgotten the Skrewts," Ron said darkly. "And I'm telling you, we had a narrow escape—had we stayed, he'd have made us teach his 'little' brother Grawp to waltz."

"I know! But I hate not talking to Hagrid," Hermione confessed, looking upset.

"We'll visit him after Quidditch," Harry assured her. He, too, was missing Hagrid, but he couldn't quite dismiss the horrible prospect of waltzing with Grawp. "The trials will take a while, though—it's incredible how popular Quidditch has become, all of a sudden."

If he were honest with himself, he was feeling quite nervous about the first day of his Captaincy. He wondered if Fay had managed to find herself a broom for the try-outs.

"Oh, come on, Harry! It's not Quidditch that's became popular, it's you!" Hermione said impatiently. "Frankly, I doubt you've ever been more fanciable."

Ron gagged on his toast. Hermione spared him a look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

"Everyone now knows you've been telling the truth, don't they? The whole wizarding world has had to admit you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really fought him twice in the last two years, escaping both times. Now they're calling you 'the Chosen One' — well, it's not hard to see why people are fascinated by you. Speaking of which, many girls will try to get close to you."

"Comet Sixty-Five—I can't believe Mother actually sent it!" a familiar voice called happily off to their side, and Hermione went silent at once. "See you at the pitch, Harry—good morning, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."

Fay was gone before Harry could have responded, so instead, he turned back to Hermione while Ron was clearing his airways.

"You think Fay is one of those girls, don't you?" Harry inquired tentatively.

"_Fay_?" Hermione scoffed. "Since when are the two of you on the first name basis?"

Harry didn't miss her acrid tone. When he didn't answer, she continued, "Listen, Harry, I have shared a dormitory with this girl for the last five years, and everybody except her has managed to make friends. I am not saying she is a bad person, but nobody can really stand her silly espionage paraphernalia and the fact that she seems to think she's always right—"

"I wonder why that sounds so familiar," Ron drawled, taking one last gulp of water to make sure he wasn't choking any more.

"I beg to differ!" Hermione yelled indignantly. "If you are hinting at me, Ronald…"

"It's time to go," Harry announced and left his seat.

"Harry, wait, I wasn't finished yet!"

"Hermione, we are going to be late. Let's go, Ron."

Ron followed immediately, Hermione trailing right behind him.

"Harry, please, I wasn't going to speak ill of Fay Dunbar, but you have to understand that this girl has no boundaries. If... if she happened to pass a bathroom and hear a shriek coming from inside, she'd blast the door open, not even bothering to knock. She has no consideration whatsoever, I swear. And Harry, just please don't tell her your Malfoy-nonsense, she will come up with some utterly ridiculous mission or..."

Harry was saved from responding by Lavender Brown, a pretty blonde Gryffindor classmate of theirs. Lavender wished Ron good luck, granting him one of those seductive smiles only she seemed able to pull off. Ron blinked at the girl and then uncertainly returned her smile. His walk instantly became something more of a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken his nose. Hermione's mood, however, appeared to dampen even more. She was cold and distant all the way down to the pitch and departed to find herself a place in the stands without wishing either of them good luck.

As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Unless he was mistaken, half of Gryffindor had turned up, right from nervous-looking first years, who kept clutching dreadfully old school brooms, to intimidating seventh years, who towered over the rest of them. Most unfortunately, McLaggen was among them.

"Meet Gryffindor's new Keeper," the wiry-haired boy said confidently, winking at Harry as if they were old friends.

"New Keeper, I see—then why didn't you try out already last year?" Harry questioned.

If there were a Gryffindor he instinctively disliked, it was McLaggen.

"I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials," McLaggen explained with something of a swagger. "I had eaten a pound of doxy eggs for a bet, can you believe it? Well, doesn't matter now, I _am_ going to be on the team this year... Say, where's that pretty friend of yours?"

"Right," said Harry. "If you mean Hermione, she's somewhere in the stands. Now if you'd wait over there…."

Harry pointed at the edge of the pitch, and as he did so, he saw an unmistakable flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face. It was clear that the boy had counted on preferential treatment. Harry couldn't care less, though.

There was a lot of work to do. He decided it would be best to start with a basic test, so he divided the applicants into groups of ten and asked them to fly a round over the pitch. This proved to be a good decision. The first group was made up of first years, and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain on his broom for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised at his own achievement that he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.

The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever laid eyes on. When he blew his whistle, they didn't take off but merely fell about, giggling and clutching each other. Romilda Vane was one of them. When he told them to leave, they gladly obeyed, still giggling.

The third group didn't manage to gather together; all of them scattering in different directions as if in a fright. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group consisted of Hufflepuffs.

"If there's anyone else here who isn't from Gryffindor," roared Harry, starting to get seriously annoyed, "please leave now!"

There was a pause, and then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, chortling with laughter.

After two hours, quite a few arguments and even several tantrums, Harry found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, who returned to the team after an excellent trial; a girl called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers; and Ginny Weasley, who truly was an exceptional flier. To his surprise, Fay scored fourteen out of seventeen, and it was decided in the end that she would become a reserve Chaser to join the team in case one of the regular Chasers got ill.

Harry couldn't help but wonder why the girl had tried out for a different position: he had been confident she'd compete for the Keeper's role.

Pleased though he was with his choice, Harry had shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers.

He was currently about to have an argument with those who hadn't made it to the team as Beaters when something red flashed before his eyes.

Ginny appeared in front of him like a ghost.

"Hey, Harry! Relax, you'll tear your vocal cords like that."

"Hey, Ginny," he said tiredly. "Congratulations—you're the best flier by far."

"Oh, I know," she affirmed with confidence. "I'm second in the list of 'Hogwarts' best,' right after you."

"There's a _list_ like that?"

"Sure there is. I'll show you." Ginny gave him an appraising look. "Say, are you coming to our little celebration after the try-outs? I think it's only fair that we get into the real team spirit, get to know the new people…"

"Um... When are you going to organise the party?" Harry stuttered.

"Oh, you'll get the invitation." The girl winked, and before Harry could add anything else, she was gone.

The rest of the try-out session didn't go all that well at all. With great difficulties, Harry managed to find himself two Beaters. Neither was particularly brilliant, but they were decent enough. Jimmy Peakes was a short but broad-chested third year, and Ritchie Coote, although not quite built for a Beater, still aimed rather well. The boys promptly joined Katie, Demelza, a grinning Ginny, and Fay—the 'Reserve Chaser'.

Since there was no one to choose from for the 'Reserve Beater' position, Harry announced it was time for the Keeper try-outs. He'd hoped there would be fewer onlookers by the time they got to this part, but unfortunately, the whole school seemed to have gathered in the stands. All the rejected players were watching as well. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves—something he had not yet been able to overcome. Ron looked like he was about to vomit.

At least, his name was among the last ones on the list, so there was yet a slim chance that he'd calm down by the time it was his turn. Harry therefore proceeded with the tests. None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece, but Cormac McLaggen managed to save four out of five, which meant he had a very good chance to make it into the team.

In fact, Harry had already started to fear that McLaggen would save all the penalties, but at the last one, he shot off in a completely wrong direction. The crowd laughed and booed as he returned to the ground, grinding his teeth. It certainly was odd.

At long last, it was Ron's turn, and to Harry's delight, Ron saved all the five penalties, thus successfully joining the team. Harry knew McLaggen was bound to create a fuss over his failure, but he didn't care; he had a secret appointment to look forward to, right after his planned visit to Hagrid's.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Oh, you came," Moaning Myrtle drawled, looking disappointed when Harry stepped into the girls' bathroom on the first floor.

"Are you unhappy to see me?" the boy inquired, perplexed.

"No, no… It's just that _she_ looked so delightfully miserable a minute ago…" Myrtle pointed at the brown-haired girl in the corner.

"Myrtle," Fay said warningly, "keep that up, and I'll have that talk with the Bloody Baron—oh, hey, Harry!"

"Finally," Harry sighed, dead-tired. "You did well, by the way."

"Thank you! I know I'm not exactly the best flier out there, but I tried. It's actually great to be able to fly; it's so… so…"

"Liberating?" Harry supplied. "Yes, I know—it's not the actual games that I enjoy the most, it's the flying itself…"

"Yes, exactly," said Fay, nodding vigorously. "But since we don't have much time, let's get started."

_This was it._

Harry glanced at Moaning Myrtle, who was hovering by the nearest stall and watching them sulkily.

"Um… Myrtle, could we have some privacy please?"

His request was fulfilled at once, though with bad grace: the offended Myrtle had plunged head-first into the toilet, taking care to splutter as much water as she could.

Harry could see that despite her nervousness, Fay looked firmly determined, and it was this earnestness in her face that put him at ease.

"You said you had a plan?" he prompted.

"I did. I mean, I do," she agreed. "First of all, let's list all the facts. Based on what you told me during our Saturday night meeting, what do we really know? We know that Draco needs something fixed at Borgin and Burkes. We also know he claims to be involved with You-Know-Who... or is at least insinuating it. Lastly, he might have the Dark Mark—"

"Voldemort," Harry said clearly.

"What?"

"Say his name, Fay; it's just a name. Besides, if you really want to be an Auror, it doesn't make sense for you to fear the name."

"Oh, all right. Vol-V—no I can't!" Fay exclaimed. "Listen, Harry"—the girl saw Harry was about to protest, and she rushed on— "I've looked into several crimes committed by him and his Death Eaters, and many of them are so horrible that I wish I hadn't looked them up at all. I... I need time. Then I'll be able to say the name."

Harry nodded, letting it slide for the time being.

"So what do we do?" he prompted again.

Fay's smile returned. "We'll try to find out what he's up to."

"Fay, he could be up to anything. Whatever it is that he needs to fix is quite large, I know this much. But I have no idea what it could be. As to his possible plans, again, not the foggiest idea…"

"You know, Harry, you'd be surprised at how much a person's room—well, dormitory in this case—reveals about said person."

Harry stared at her, taken aback by such a bold proposal.

"Wait, are you saying what I think you're saying?" A smile slowly spread on his face.

"Absolutely," Fay replied. "We're going to have a tour around Slytherin boys' dormitory. But wait, it gets even better—while we're at it, we'll try to see if he really has the Mark."

"And how are we going to do that? It's not like he's going to show it off for us."

"Well, I might need to become Pansy for a while," Fay mused. "The chances are slim because it's a big secret, I'm sure, but it never hurts to try."

"It never hurts to try," Harry echoed.

And so 'Mission Malfoy' was now set in motion.

* * *

**AN**: Do I hear some noise? 'Mission Malfoy' is about to be set in motion. Are you excited? Let me know in the review box.

Million thanks to my beta **Tarpeia** who's done tons of work editing this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4: Crashing the Dungeons

After his first lesson with Dumbledore, a new hope had arisen in Harry; he had felt comforted. Not any more, however. If anything, he now felt abandoned. The moment Hermione had pointed out that Dumbledore had been mysteriously disappearing from Hogwarts – leaving Professors McGonagall and Snape in charge of the school and a dozen of Aurors, no less – Harry had started doubting the importance of their lessons. Frankly, if it weren't for the secret mission Fay and he had been preparing, he'd be quite depressed.

_Where had Dumbledore gone, and what was he doing?_

Halfway through October, time had come for their first trip to Hogsmeade. Harry had been uncertain whether those trips would still be allowed, given the increasingly tight security measures around the school, but was pleased to know that they would continue; it was very convenient.

He and Fay had agreed to sneak into the Slytherin common room that same day when there would be fewer people around. Their only problem was that Harry really needed to come up with a clever plan to be able to stay in the castle without either Ron or Hermione growing suspicious as to why, all of a sudden, he no longer wanted to come to Hogsmeade with them.

Luckily, there was a way. The Prince had given Harry the idea to fake illness without arousing suspicion, and Fred and George's _Skiving Snackbox_ was going to be handy as well.

Up to this point, everything had gone according to their plan. Harry had taken a gulp of the potion he had prepared in advance and was now waiting for the effects to manifest themselves.

Unfortunately, the Prince had also gotten Harry into a little trouble with Hermione.

They were presently having breakfast, and Ron was telling Hermione all about Harry's morning experiments with the Prince's spells.

"...and then there was another flash of light, and I landed on the bed again!" Ron grinned, helping himself to some sausage.

Hermione had not cracked a single smile, and she now turned an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.

"This spell was something you'd picked up from that Potions book of yours, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?"

"Well?"

"Yes it was," Harry admitted.

"Harry, do you know how dangerous it is to try out spells without having any idea what they might do? You could have injured Ron!"

"It was a laugh!" Ron exclaimed, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"

"But Harry couldn't have known that!" Hermione insisted. "Besides, who spends their time and effort making up spells like that? If you ask me, this Prince character is pretty dodgy…"

"Dodgy?" Ron repeated, genuinely surprised. "What gives you that idea? It's something Fred and George would invent, it doesn't make this spell _evil_ or anything! Harry, mate, back me up—Harry?"

The potion was starting to kick in, and Harry found himself feeling unwell.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione questioned.

"You know, I'm not feeling well... I think I'm sick. I don't reckon I'm going to be able to go to Hogsmeade after all."

"But you can't just cancel on us!" Ron said hotly.

"Don't be insensitive, Ron!" Hermione intervened. "Harry, do you think you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"No, but I need to go and lie down… Sorry, guys, really," Harry said sincerely.

He truly was sorry to see Ron and Hermione so alarmed, but these measures were necessary.

"It's all right. Hermione, do you think you could stop by Tomes and Scrolls and grab a textbook on Ancient Runes? For beginners, obviously," Harry addressed the worried girl.

These words worked magic—literally so: Hermione's face lit up at once.

"Oh, Harry, what could have possibly brought about such a change? Not that it's not good news – it's wonderful!"

"WHAT?" Ron bellowed, just as Hermione looked as though she were about to hug Harry. "Isn't it enough that you're spending days with your nose buried in that Potions book? I'm starting to believe that Loony was right about the existence of these Wrakaputis…"

"It's _Wrackspurts_, Ron," Harry laughed. "And no, I'm not crazy. I just thought I might invent some fun spells—you know, like the Prince did."

Hermione heaved an annoyed sigh. "All right, Harry, I'm going to assume that you're affected by the illness, but I'll get you the book anyway."

"Ha! So you agree Harry's gone barmy," Ron grinned triumphantly.

"Don't be silly, Ron; that's not what I meant."

"Come on, guys, give it a break. See you soon," Harry said hastily, trying to make his exit as quick as possible.

"All right, mate, see you, then," Ron said as he got up.

"Bye, Harry," Hermione echoed.

After the trio exchanged their goodbyes, Harry made sure they could see him return to Gryffindor Tower while the rest of the student body was rushing out of the castle. Once he reached his dormitory, he walked directly towards his trunk and took out his Invisibility Cloak.

It was time to act.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fay was already waiting in the common room.

"I'm right behind you," Harry whispered from under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Here," Fay whispered back, taking out a small vial of antidote for Harry to drink. "How did it go?"

"Fine," Harry answered before downing the potion.

"Good, but we really need to be careful now; the worst part is only about to begin…"

"Are you always this optimistic, Fay?"

This actually got a smile from her. She turned around to face an invisible Harry, forgetting that she was supposed to act as if she were alone.

"Talking to an imaginary friend, Fairy?" McLaggen called in passing.

"To myself, as a matter of fact. But listen, Cormac, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?" the girl improvised quickly.

"You and I, Fairy?" McLaggen mocked. "Merlin, you really are delusional! The only way I will go out with you is in your dreams. Well, I must be going. Who knows, maybe I'll spot Potty's pretty lady friend on my way there..."

Fay and the invisible Harry waited for him to exit before leaving the common room as well. Harry was seething on the inside; should McLaggen keep that attitude, an eventual conflict would be inevitable.

McLaggen's sudden appearance achieved one good thing, though: both Harry and Fay suddenly became more aware of the importance of their mission. There would be no more chit-chat until they reached the oak front door.

As was to be expected, Filch was standing at the entrance, checking off the names of the students who had the permission to go to Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, there was also a Ministry Auror to assist Filch.

"Confund Filch—I take on the Auror," Fay instructed as discreetly as she could.

"Hello, Mr. Filch and… Sir?" she proceeded, her greeting bright and loud to mask Harry's silent footsteps. "It's good that you're still here. I overslept this morning and was afraid I wouldn't be let out any more…"

"Would serve you right!" Filch barked. "D'you think I have nothing better to do than stand here all morning and check all these filthy, nosy brats for forbidden items?"

"Now, now, Mr. Filch, no need to be so cross," the Auror admonished. "If you would stand over here, Miss, I need to check you with the Secrecy Sensor."

"Of course," Fay said. "Here's my permission."

Harry noticed that Fay could be a good actress when she wanted to. Her small talk with the Auror was the perfect distraction.

"Dunbar?" Auror questioned all of a sudden. "Say, are you related, by any chance, to Mrs. Dunbar, the proprietor of Fæger Herbae?"

"Of course! She's my mother," Fay replied proudly. "Do you frequently visit our shop? I don't recall seeing you there, and I help Mother a lot…"

"No, no, it's my fiancée who's a regular client of yours; but I just love the Sandalwood oil and the Abyssinian shrivelfigs from your offer—excellent quality, I must say..."

"Oh, that explains it! But you know, you really should visit us more often. We're currently importing some rare herbs from Africa, and there's a manual attached to every little package. These herbs are just marvellous—you wouldn't believe all the clever ways African potioneers have come up with! Ooh, and the package boxes are decorated with African motifs..."

"_Confundo_," Harry breathed, seizing his chance.

Filch's eyes became slightly unfocused, and Harry slipped through the door.

According to their plan, Fay would come out a little later after having finished her conversation with the Auror so that the latter wouldn't grow suspicious. They would then split up, each closely following the person they had chosen to impersonate. Fay would follow Pansy while Harry would keep an eye on Blaise Zabini.

These measures were necessary, for as Fay had rightly pointed out, Draco Malfoy was no fool—a coward, most definitely, but no fool. The blond ponce had deducted Harry's presence in the train compartment from Harry's characteristic Gryffindor touch. This time, it was crucial to avoid such mistakes. Silly slip-ups and bad acting would immediately give them away.

Some ten minutes later, Fay emerged from the castle, clutching at her flapping coat in an attempt to protect herself from the cold, penetrating wind.

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly, looking around.

"I'm here," Harry assured her. "Keep walking, I'll stay invisible."

"Good thinking," Fay praised. "Now, first of all, you should know that Draco Malfoy is in detention with Minerva. It's a good thing—if we are quick, he won't even know we've been in his dormitory. Second, we need to agree how and where we are going to meet. Slytherin boys prefer to relax in the upper private lounge of the Three Broomsticks, so don't waste your time on the first floor, where the rest of the customers usually stay. I'm going to try Gladrags Wizardwear and check if Pansy is there. She has a weakness for fine clothes, you know; she always complains about the lack of establishments with a refined taste. Then again, if she's out with Daphne Greengrass, they might as well be at Dominic Maestro's—music is Daphne's passion. What else? Oh, in case you don't spot Blaise in the Three Broomsticks, go to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. From what I've heard, Blaise enjoys calligraphy—"

"Hold on, how on earth do you know so much about Slytherins?" Harry asked, trying to keep up with the flood of information. He noticed that Fay, like Hermione, had the tendency to deliver the entire thing in one breath.

"Well, I'm a pure-blood," Fay answered as if this were the most revealing explanation in the world. "Of course I'd know."

"Yes, but so is Ron, and _he_ certainly doesn't know that Blaise _enjoys calligraphy_..."

"Oh, but he's a Weasley," Fay explained.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, scrutinizing Fay.

He really didn't like the way people would throw the surname _Weasley_ around as if the Weasleys were inferior.

Fay must have sensed the mild aggression in his question, for she turned to the direction of his voice, looking quite at a loss.

"Harry," she said slowly, "surely you must know about the public relations of the prominent wizarding families and their respective social circles?"

"Err... not exactly," Harry answered honestly. "My aunt and uncle are Muggles, so…"

"But didn't the Headmaster explain it all to you? It ought to have been his responsibility to give you an idea... Or didn't Minerva do so?"

"It never came up," Harry admitted. "But why do you call Professor McGonagall by her first name?"

"One of my great-grandmothers was a third cousin of Isobel Ross," Fay said. "Not that I get any preferential treatment…. Come to think of it, Minerva has never called me anything other than _Miss Dunbar_,and she doesn't pay us any visits unless it's for business. Oh, and I'm certainly not going around calling her by first name in her presence; she'd never tolerate such disrespect. I guess I'm just cheeky enough to use her first name when she's not around—an old habit, if you will."

Unfortunately, her answer didn't make Harry any wiser on the matter.

"Fay, I don't follow."

"Uh oh... Have you ever looked into wizarding genealogy?" Fay sighed. "All right, then. Isobel Ross married a Muggle named Robert McGonagall, and they had three children. Minerva McGonagall is one of them."

"So what you're saying is that Professor McGonagall has siblings? And that she's your relative?" Harry briefly felt astounded before recalling that the first time he had met Fay, she had seemed to vaguely resemble McGonagall.

It was bizarre to imagine McGonagall having a family. For some irrational and completely unfounded reason, he had always assumed Professor McGonagall must have been an only child and a lonely person. Apparently, he had been wrong.

"Aye, lad," Fay said hastily, imitating McGonagall's Scottish bark. "That's all correct, she has two brothers and is a distant relative of mine; but listen, that's not the point at the moment. The thing is, pure-bloods tend to know each other. Children usually get acquainted before Hogwarts, and we've all grown up knowing each other's families—if not in person, then at least by name and reputation. As you heard in the entrance hall, my Mother owns an herb shop, which means that…"

"... that you know people," Harry finished for her. The pieces of the puzzle had finally started falling in place.

"Exactly," Fay confirmed. "Now, people who aren't exceedingly arrogant usually do their shopping in person while the rich and important folk tend to send over their house-elves and venture out only on special occasions. For instance, I have never once seen Draco Malfoy or Daphne Greengrass set foot in our shop, even though Neville, Pansy, and even Blaise would sometimes step by."

"It still doesn't explain how come you know so much about them," Harry observed. "Or what you meant when you implied that the Weasleys were different."

"It's simple, isn't it?" said Fay. "I listen and observe. And as for the Weasleys, they've always chosen to stand apart from everyone else, haven't they? Mr. Arthur Weasley exhibits an open admiration for Muggle devices, and Mrs. Weasley never greets the other witches according to the proper wizarding etiquette. It's a good thing that they're so bold, but on the other hand, it _really_ looks like they don't know certain aspects of the pure-blood wizarding world. I don't know, Harry; it's not up to me to judge."

"All right," Harry muttered, mulling it over. "We're almost there—when and where do we meet?"

"Near Zonko's in an hour." Fay thought about it. "By that time, we both must obtain our hair strands to transform into Pansy and Blaise. I'd rather wait for you than transform beforehand. We shall take the potion together and go back to the castle as Pansy and Blaise. The _real_ Pansy and Blaise have to be detained; it's very important. Do you know what you are going to do? Oh, and while you're tailing Blaise, try to remember every little detail about him: how he speaks, how he walks, how he holds his hands—"

"I know," Harry said. "Don't worry, we've been over this."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Scarlet, wine, crimson, blush, vermilion... even maroon! Every shade is there, except for the kind of red I need!"

"Pansy, why don't you try blue instead? It goes better with your eyes."

Pansy considered this. "Hmm… It's pretty, I guess, but blue isn't fashionable this season."

"Suit yourself," Daphne answered tiredly. "In my opinion, blue looks better on you than any shade of red I've seen, and it also goes better with the Goblin-made silver necklace Draco got for your birthday."

"You're right," Pansy reflected. "Hmm, I'll look if there's anything else…"

"Pansy!" Daphne exclaimed, incensed. "I need new cords for my violin!"

"Daphne, dear, you know how important it is for me to choose the right dress. Draco's been down lately, and I need to—"

She stopped talking as the door to Gladrags Wizardwear opened, revealing a mousy-haired girl about their age, who was wearing a Gryffindor tie.

"Well, that's an unpleasant surprise," Daphne muttered off to Pansy's right.

To the two girls' utter horror, Fay walked right over to them. "How do you do, Pansy?" she greeted. "Greengrass."

"Dunbar," Pansy returned in a frosty tone, opting pointedly for Fay's surname. "And since when are _you_ interested in dresses?"

"Oh, I was just... um, looking for a dress for... for a night out with a special someone…"

Daphne and Pansy exchanged bewildered looks.

"Is that so?" Daphne drawled. "And who, in the name of Salazar, could be the lucky wizard?"

Pansy snickered at Daphne's mocking emphasis on the word _luck_y.

"Girls, I may be a Gryffindor, but I know how to keep secrets," Fay countered.

"I'm sure you do." Daphne smiled. "But I wonder... I've seen you eye Draco lately."

At this piece of information, Pansy dropped the dress she was holding. "Salazar, did I hear that correctly?"

"You most certainly did, Pansy," Daphne assured. "Ever since those Quidditch try-outs…"

"Very smart, Greengrass," Fay said appreciatively. "Somewhat old-fashioned, but smart—I mean, you _do_ needto be in Pansy's good graces…"

"Listen, Dunbar, nobody gets away with such insults in my address."

"Oh, but did I insult you?" Fay blinked, an innocent look on her face. "I was merely referring to the Slytherin power plays—House politics, if you will. After all, Pansy here is quite popular at the moment. However, I certainly didn't accuse you of anything nefarious, did I now? I didn't speak ill of your family, and I didn't mock you in any way. So it is the other way around, dear: you are the one out of boundaries."

Daphne's sapphire blue eyes burned with ire as she realized that she had just been outwitted by a Gryffindor. To her surprise, Pansy smoothed the situation.

"What is it that you want, Dunbar?"

"Why, I'm looking for a dress, Pansy, as I just told—"

"Don't play dumb. Why is it that you came over to talk to _us_? I may not know you well, but I'm not unaware that you are hardly the one for small talk. Unless, that is, you really _are_ interested in Draco."

"Oh, please! The only Slytherin wizard I might possibly find attractive is the Bloody Baron," Fay scoffed. "You're right, though, I do need to talk to you, Pansy—alone, if you don't mind."

Daphne sighed. "You know what, Pansy? I'm going out of here. I believe it's getting a little uncomfortable."

As soon as Daphne exited, Pansy turned to Fay with a positively annoyed expression on her features.

"Pleased, are we now, Dunbar?"

"Not yet," Fay answered quite honestly. "I need your help."

"Excuse me?!" Pansy yelled indignantly. "You need my _what_?"

"Could you please buy me those mittens?" Fay pointed at a pair of furry mittens, enchanted to look like little raccoons.

Whatever Pansy had been expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

"Have you been drinking the Essence of Madness?" the Slytherin girl asked slowly.

"No, of course not—do I look like it?" Fay countered, a tad offended. "You see, Pansy, the matter is quite delicate, which is why I didn't ask you in Daphne' presence. It's cold outside, and I don't have any Galleons on me at the moment, and…"

"Just get lost, will you? I can't believe you've wasted my precious time over this rubbish."

"But I thought you'd help me, seeing that I'm the only person who knows about that wart on your—"

Now _that_ got the other girl's attention.

"How did you—" Pansy gasped before her face morphed into a mask of sheer horror mixed with a murderous fury. "Listen, you Gryffindor vermin, if you breathe a single word about it to _anyone—_"

"Please buy me these mittens, and I swear I won't tell—and I won't ask for anything else, either, just please b—"

"Fine, shut up already!" Pansy snapped. "And don't push me! Salazar, what they say about you is true."

"Sorry," Fay muttered, but she inwardly grinned—it had gone exactly as planned.

By the time Pansy went to the shop assistant, Fay had already skimmed through Pansy's diary and summoned some of her hair.

At present, there was only one little detail left to arrange: sending Pansy to the Three Broomsticks. Luckily, that wouldn't be a problem, either. The shop assistant would help her there.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"How did it go?" a bodiless voice asked.

"I've got the password and the hair," Fay reported. "Where are you?"

"Right behind you. Where shall we transform?"

"Shoot, I haven't thought about that…"

"Let's go to Honeydukes," Harry suggested, thinking on his feet. "Come under the Cloak."

Fay hastened to do so, feeling both confused and excited.

"This Cloak is amazing, Harry! Where did you get it? And why Honeydukes ? I don't think I understand."

"It was my father's," Harry replied as they set out. "Oh, and just trust me on that one."

The teens didn't lose any time. It was noon, and the majority of Hogwarts students were enjoying their Saturday in the village, which meant that it was their best opportunity to sneak into Slytherin dorms, which, by all means, should be almost empty during this time of day.

They entered the shop before the door could close on the newest visitor. The next thing Fay knew, she was being dragged towards the wall.

"Quick, we can't let them bump into us!" the boy urged.

Fay nodded. "What now?"

"There's a secret passage—in here!"

Fay could only follow as Harry led her carefully past the counter, into the storage room and then through the trap-door. It took them an eternity to descend the worn-out stone staircase and approach the narrow passageway, which, bizarrely, resembled a rabbit hole.

"We're almost there," Harry announced after a while.

"Where?" Fay asked, bewildered.

"In the castle. Listen, there are various passageways leading to the castle. Fred and George Weasley found several of them, including this one. It's our best way to avoid the Aurors, but we'll have to transform here—you do have the potion, don't you?"

"It's in my bag," Fay assured. "Wow, Harry, I never knew! Where does this passageway go?"

"To the One-Eyed Witch Passage on the third floor—"

"You mean it's somewhere near the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor? Did you know she was the one who discovered the cure for Dragon pox?" Fay gushed, overwhelmed.

"No, I didn't. Err... maybe we should transform now."

"Right," she said. "Of course, sorry. Oh, here!"

She quickly conjured two glasses and filled them with a muddy substance they both knew to be the Polyjuice potion.

Harry was about to add Zabini's hair when Fay took hold of his wrist.

"What?" he asked.

"Harry, just let me ask you one last time: are you ready to do this? Think about it—nothing's done yet. We still can back out of it—"

"No, Fay," Harry answered firmly. "I have been working too hard for this. I _lied_ to my two best friends while I could be enjoying my Hogsmeade weekend right now—d'you think I've done all this just to walk away now?! I _need_ to know what Malfoy's up to. Any clue would be useful at this point."

Fay stared into his bright green eyes full of a determination she had rarely seen in anyone else.

"Oh, all right," she stuttered. "You're right, of course. Go on…"

Harry added the hair. The potion hissed and fizzled until it turned, as far as Harry could discern in the dim light, an impenetrable indigo colour.

"Ooh! Not bad—I didn't expect Blaise to look that tasty," Fay commented before catching Harry's bewildered look.

"You can drink it, I don't mind," he said honestly.

"No, no, it's all right. But what did you do to him?"

"Let's just say that... err, he has stomach problems. He's currently stuck in the men's room at the Three Broomsticks and shouldn't be returning very soon."

"Harry," Fay asked with some trepidation, "are you sure we aren't getting ourselves into any trouble?"

"Well, unless you count invading other people's dormitory, impersonating Slytherins using a practically illegal potion—which I have no idea how we've acquired in the first place—and breaking at least some fifty school rules, I'm quite sure, yes," he laughed.

"I have a hunch that Blaise will take the matter to Snape. I mean, if he's forced to spend his weekend in the men's room—"

But then, despite her apprehension, she burst into laughter. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be laughing—it's not really funny—but seeing how Blaise is always so dignified... _Merlin_!"

"Come now, add your hair," Harry urged, smiling.

And so she did. Her potion hissed as well before gaining a green tinge, that of the avocado paste, only murkier.

"Pansy's essence?" Harry questioned. "What did you do to _her_?"

"Sure is," Fay trilled. "I sent her to the Three Broomsticks to meet Daphne once she's done shopping. The latter is not going to show up, but Pansy will end up waiting for her for at least half an hour anyway. Oh, here are the Slytherin ties and badges; the new password is _Runespoor. _Remember to act dignified—you know, arrogant..."

"All right, the coast is clear. Here it goes, then," Harry—_Blaise_—announced as soon as they had transformed.

After a few size adjustments and an additional glance at the Map, they were ready to go.

As they had anticipated, the castle was almost empty, and they didn't have any trouble getting into the Slytherin Common Room.

The room itself was just as Harry remembered it: dungeon-like with a low ceiling, which was dark even during the daytime, and decorated with countless snake and skull ornaments. A couple of first years looked at them curiously when they entered, but receiving a death glare from Harry, they hastily returned to their board games and parchment.

Harry and Fay proceeded towards the stairs that led to the dormitories. Fortunately, the sixth year Slytherin boys' dormitory wasn't difficult to find. In fact, the common rooms of all the four Houses had been built around the same time, and their system was roughly the same.

"Right," Harry said as soon as they had got inside. "Which bed do you reckon belongs to Malfoy?"

"This one," Fay declared after some observation. "See that trunk with the Malfoy family crest on it?"

Frankly, Harry didn't know what the Malfoy family crest looked like, but he'd noticed, that night on the train, that Malfoy's leather suitcase did have some kind of coat of arms on it.

Fay was being very methodical; Harry thought it was almost funny to see so much serious concentration on Pansy Parkinson's face.

"Look at this," she called after a while, holding up an ancient-looking book in a fragile binding. "Draco must have been in a hurry; otherwise he wouldn't have left something so valuable around…"

Harry thought he knew what Fay was referring to. At first glance, the book looked like something to throw into the fireplace; yet upon closer inspection, it really seemed noteworthy. The title of the book was literally illegible, but Harry managed to make out the words _est apartenant, Nico_ and_ Malefo _embossed in the cover.

"Nicholas Malfoy," Fay mused, her voice barely audible. "Must be it... Harry, this tome dates back to 14th century, so it must have belonged to him. Harry, this is big! We're on to something here."

"Why? What's this book even about?"

"It's just chronicles... Some parts of them are even written in Old French, which I'm not familiar with. But look at this—see these ink marks? These are recent, which means that they were left by Draco himself." Fay stilled for a moment before continuing, "Why would Draco be interested in such ancient history? He learned this stuff as he grew up. We all did."

"No idea," Harry answered. "How much time do we have left?"

"We need to get out of here in fifteen minutes at the latest—oh, what's this?"

Fay had put the tome back where she had found it and was now inspecting a few tiny, barely visible greyish fragments.

"Looks like metal dust," Harry commented, thinking of the stuff he'd seen on uncle Vernon's drills. "You know, like what's left after you've scratched some metal."

"Hold on," Fay said.

She gathered the dust in a small pot she'd conjured, and before Harry could ask what she was doing, she'd already cast Incendio on the dust particles, which were immediately consumed by a green flame.

"Did you see that?" Fay exclaimed excitedly.

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat stupidly. For a moment, there, he had been a bit worried the fire would get out of control.

"The flame was green, but not emerald green like the Floo powder—it must have been copper! The metal dust, I mean…"

"All right, so we know that Malfoy's been in contact with copper and that he sleeps with an old family heirloom under his pillow," Harry summarised, disappointed.

He'd really been hoping for more: some dark artefacts at the very least.

"No, not quite," Fay objected. "We know that he's been in contact with copper and that he is looking into medieval history... Harry, do you recall anything made of copper at—"

She wasn't given a chance to finish, for the door suddenly swung open to reveal Theodore Nott.

"Blaise?" the boy asked, utterly astounded. "How is this possible? When I left, you weren't feeling w—_Pansy_?"

"Theodore," Fay returned, slightly panicked. "I'm just waiting for Draco; he's been a bit down lately, haven't you noticed? I meant to talk to him, so I knocked and... and Blaise was here…"

She waved uncertainly in Harry's direction.

"I see," Nott said. "But it still doesn't explain how you got down here so quickly, Blaise—I mean, you were still... ahem... _unwell_ when I left."

"I'm better now, Nott, thank you very much," Harry snapped angrily. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

At this, Nott's mouth actually fell open. But he pulled himself together in an instant, eyes alert.

"All right, as you wish, Blaise," he said and turned on the spot.

Harry knew at once that something had just gone very wrong; he didn't need to hear Fay's faint gasp of horror to confirm his suspicions.

"Harry, he's gone to get Snape," the girl breathed in his ear. "He knows you're an impostor—real Blaise would never be so rude to Theo!"

"We're getting out here—now!" Harry instructed.

"Right." Fay took a breath to calm herself down. "Get under the Cloak and go; I'll try to find another way out…"

"No," Harry said firmly, "we're getting out of here together. The potion won't last very long, and I reckon Snape will seal the exit immediately to catch the intruder. You'll be discovered, so we're leaving together."

"All right…"

As quietly as they could, they crept back to the common room under the Cloak. But they weren't quick enough.

The second they reached the entrance, the stone door slid aside, revealing Nott and, at his heels, the much hated former Potions master.

* * *

**An**: Enormous thanks to my extra-meticulous beta **Tarpeia**. I hope you like this chapter and while I'm at it, I also want to thank those readers who are following/reviewing this story. I think you're awesome!


	5. Chapter 5: Clumsy Denouement

Snape's pitch black eyes scanned the room. Amazingly, his gaze lingered for quite a moment on the spot where Harry and Fay stood invisible, not daring to breathe.

"I'm positive the impostor is still upstairs, Sir," Nott said in a low voice. "I don't think he's had the time to guess that I've uncovered him."

"Perhaps," Snape said silkily. "But let us not take any chances, Mr. Nott."

Harry's worst fears were confirmed at Snape's first words. The former Potions Master would seal the exit, making it impossible for them to leave the dungeons, and then it would be very easy to determine who had ventured into the dorms. Without wasting any more time, Harry sent a series of wordless tripping jinxes in the direction of a group of Slytherin first years to create some commotion, praying for his ruse to work. He still was struggling with the wordless magic.

To his great relief, one of the jinxes hit its target, causing the little boy to topple over an invisible barrier. He lost his grip on the armful of books he was carrying, and the old volumes rained onto the carpeted floor in a succession of mighty thuds. As he fell, he instinctively grabbed at the green and silver tablecloth from the nearest table to steady himself. Not only this didn't slow his fall, but it also made the contents of the table spill onto him as the tablecloth was dragged down; the poor boy instantly found himself showered with chess pieces and ink bottles.

At this, the three fourth years who had been lounging around the table sprang to their feet, and one of them accidentally bumped into a bespectacled girl, who was carrying four bottles of Butterbeer to her friends' spot by the fireplace. She tumbled down, and so did her bottles, two of which broke on the spot while the other two rolled away in different directions. One of her friends, until then absorbed in her piece of pie, rushed to help her up but slipped on a fragment of glass and lost balance. Her piece of pie went flying out of her hand, hitting Snape and smearing his robes.

"Food is not allowed in the common room!" Snape hissed angrily. With a careless flick of his hand, the whipping cream vanished from his chin and collar. "Two points from Slytherin, Miss Adder. And—"

But his next words were cut off as the fire in the hearth swelled to twice its size—one of the damaged Butterbeer bottles must have reached it—and the girls sitting in the nearby armchairs jumped aside with small cries.

The ones responsible for the mayhem didn't stay to enjoy the fun; they knew the confusion wouldn't last long. Harry and Fay hastily made their exit while there still was time. Harry was tightly holding onto Fay's wrist, making sure they wouldn't get separated, and even as he did so, he could feel her hand changing. The Polyjuice Potion was already wearing off, which was both good and bad.

They sprinted ahead, leaving the dungeons behind them and only pausing to remove the shoes they had picked earlier and which no longer were their size.

"Harry, we can't go to our common room looking like that," Fay whispered. "In here!"

She pointed at a solitary broom cupboard which, at that moment, really looked like a good hiding place.

Shutting the door behind them, they desperately tried to get their breathing under control. It wasn't an easy thing to do: the adrenaline was still coursing through their blood, and their hearts were hammering so loudly that any passer-by was bound to hear them.

"T-t-ties," Fay stuttered in between ragged breaths.

"Right," Harry panted back, trying to take the strip of fabric off.

This, too, proved to be a challenge, though. His hands were shaking slightly, and he couldn't untie the knot however hard he tried.

Fay must have sensed his struggle, for her hands went at once to his collar. The only problem was that after their near-fiasco, her hands were shaking as well, so she tore away not only his tie, but also his collar.

"I'm so sorr—"

She never finished her sentence, though, for the cupboard door swung open forcefully, and the mortified Gryffindors found themselves staring at Hermione Granger and Anthony Goldstein—the two Hogwarts prefects who just happened to be in that part of the castle at that time of the day.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"H-H-Harry?" Hermione stuttered. Her gaze slowly wandered over Harry's torn shirt and Fay's hands, which were clinging to it.

She seemed unable to believe her eyes. And at last, Harry got to take a close look at both Fay and himself ever since they had entered the cupboard.

They had fully assumed their true form, but Harry's robes were a little too big for him, since Zabini wore a larger size. Fay's case was somewhat different: she happened to be taller and slimmer than Parkinson, so her attire somehow looked both too short and too large for her. The only similarity in their appearance was that both of them were horribly battered and chalk pale.

"Oh, I'm soaked," Fay lamented, and Anthony was overcome with a sudden coughing fit.

Harry got the distinct feeling that his cough was actually a snicker. And as soon as he came to that realisation, he also became painfully aware of the fact that he'd just been discovered in a rather compromising position in a broom cupboard.

"Harry," Hermione said awkwardly, "would you mind stepping out of there?"

"No!" Fay answered in his stead to everyone's surprise. "We're not done yet—close the door!"

This comment proved to be too much for Anthony, who doubled over with laughter.

Hermione, meanwhile, looked as though she had just been forced to admit the existence of the Crumpled Horned Snorkack; the next moment, however, she understood what Fay had implied and quickly complied.

Harry had heard it too: someone's footsteps were approaching rapidly.

Once again, Harry's grim predictions were most accurate. After a brief instant of nerve-tingling silence, they clearly heard Snape's cold, low voice.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Goldstein," he growled, "May I inquire what you are doing in this part of the castle at this time of the day?"

"Sir," Hermione's voice answered, slightly agitated, "we've been sent by Professor McGonagall to fetch you—"

"There has been an attack—Katie Bell from Gryffindor had to be taken to the hospital wing," Anthony supplied, coming to Hermione's aid.

"And you find that amusing, Mr. Goldstein?" Snape asked suspiciously.

"N-n-not at all! I mean, it was awful—"

"Be that as it may," Snape continued, anger now more pronounced in his voice, "why didn't you come and see me in my office? What are you doing _here_?"

"We _were_ going to your office, Sir. But..."

Harry could sense that Anthony was vainly struggling to come up with a convenient excuse.

"_Yes_?" Snape pressed.

"That would be me, Professor," Hermione spoke again. "I thought I had seen you in the village—I wasn't thinking clearly after the attack—so Anthony and I started arguing. It was my fault. I apologise."

"You were arguing, yet Mr. Goldstein was laughing. How interesting," Snape commented drily.

It was obvious Snape wasn't buying the story at all, but Anthony either didn't see it or just ignored all the signs of a lost case.

"That's how I react to stress, Sir," the Ravenclaw continued bravely. "I laugh, you see. I've read that laughter helps overcome—"

"Enough," Snape snapped, and Harry could picture his expression turning livid at the very least. "Where is McGonagall?"

"She's in her office, Professor," Hermione informed promptly. "She sent for you specifically..."

Snape must have decided to waste no more time because the sound of movement ensued, and both Anthony and Hermione stopped speaking.

"Harry," Fay breathed almost inaudibly, "return to common room—under the Cloak."

Harry nodded. It was a fair point. Snape always suspected him whenever something went wrong at Hogwarts, and he could as well inspect the Gryffindor common room with McGonagall to make sure Harry was there.

By the time Hermione opened the cupboard door again, he was ready. Invisible, he slipped past Anthony and Hermione and headed for the tower.

"Where's Harry?" Anthony asked, astounded, when all he saw was Fay in the midst of Filch's mops and buckets.

"Oh, you know, he's a busy guy," Fay commented offhandedly. "Had some errands to run…"

"Yeah, I can imagine." Anthony smirked while Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Hey, um... does anyone happen to know a good drying spell?" Fay asked timidly. "I'm all soaked—apparently, Filch doesn't care to empty his buckets when he stacks them in the cupboard."

"Oh, so _that's_ what you meant by 'soaked'!"

"Of course! What else did you think I meant?"

Anthony had the decency to blush as both girls sent him a glare.

"Eh, never mind," he said awkwardly.

"I know the spell," Hermione intervened. "Let's walk together, Dunbar—oh, and Anthony, thank you for coming with me. See you later tonight."

"Oh, right, the patrolling," Anthony recalled. "Well, this certainly was interesting... See you later, girls."

Anthony strode away, leaving both Hermione and Fay with the hollow feeling that certain rumours would soon be spreading within the castle walls, and judging from Hermione's expression, she was no more thrilled by this prospect than Fay was.

Fay swallowed despite herself—Hermione Granger looked positively murderous. Their conversation wasn't going to be pleasant.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hermione Granger led Fay out of the dungeons to the Gryffindor tower. Fay found herself feeling bizarrely grateful—it was better to have this conversation in the empty girls' dormitory than anywhere else in the castle.

"It's over, Dunbar. Hand over the vial," Granger said after closing the door behind them.

"What vial?" Fay asked, perplexed, making her way to her bed to discreetly deposit the Slytherin ties and badges under the pillow.

It wasn't a good hiding place, but this was all she could do with Granger watching her like a hawk.

"Don't play dumb, you know very well 'what vial'. The vial containing the love potion you drugged Harry with!"

"_Drug_ Harry?" Fay exclaimed, taken aback. "I didn't drug him—I didn't drug anyone! What could possibly give you that idea?"

Granger sighed, much like a person trying to stay calm.

"Listen, Fay," the girl said, and Fay immediately registered the use of her first name, "Harry is my best friend, and I know him well enough to assure you that he is not the kind of boy who would sneak into a broom cupboard with some—"

"Yes, Granger?" Fay challenged, now getting a little angry herself.

Hermione must have understood that she was crossing the line, for she took a calming breath.

"Look, I understand," she continued. "He's a celebrity, and he's really popular at the moment; you've simply deluded yourself into thinking that by temporarily drugging him, you'd—"

"Oh, now I see what this is all about," Fay overrode her, comprehension dawning on her at last. "You misinterpreted the situation. It's not like that. You see, Harry and I have a case…"

"A _case_?" Hermione repeated acidly, but contrary to Fay's expectations, her demeanour didn't soften in the slightest. "Do you mean to say that you've dragged him into your spying nonsense?!"

"It is not _nonsense;_ you won't even let me explain!"

"Oh, please! Should I remind you of the time when you thought that Filch was actually a hag in disguise?!" Hermione shouted.

"He is a scary man, and I was a first year!" Fay defended herself.

"Or the time when you sent Zacharias Smith flying down the stairs—"

"That was self-defence!"

"_Or _ the time when you tried to convince everybody that Professor Snape had a love affair with Argus Filch?"

"I may have been hasty to jump to conclusions, but I did see Filch kneeling over Snape, who didn't have his trousers on…"

"Does it matter?" Hermione yelled. "You are obsessed with this entire spying thing in the unhealthiest way imaginable, and now you're trying to get Harry involved with some sort of… Ugh, just stay away from him!"

"Who are _you_ to tell me that?" Fay yelled back. "You don't control him—although you certainly aspire to, by the looks of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think I don't observe well enough, Granger? You _always_ nag at him, _always_ boss him around—"

"I look out for him because he's my friend—not something _you_ would understand, Dunbar!"

Fay blinked, truly hurt for the first time. Granger was right, she didn't have any friends, and she _didn't_ know anything about 'looking out' for the others. Ever since Anna, a former red-haired classmate of theirs, had been withdrawn from Hogwarts, she had spent her school years alone, speaking to no one except for an occasional 'hi' to her classmates.

"And what about the house-elves?" Fay asked, her voice lower now. "How can you be so full of yourself as to single-handedly decide what's best for the entire population of magical beings? Isn't that a clear manifestation of your controlling tendencies?"

"I don't have any _controlling tendencies_, Dunbar," Hermione returned, furious and offended at the suggestion. "Unlike you, I want to make a difference in the world. But naturally, being a '_pure-blood'_"—she said the word with a particular venom—"you are used to oppressing others, aren't you?"

"I can't believe it, Granger," Fay breathed. "How narrow-minded can you be?! Listen to yourself; you don't sound remotely different from Pansy or Draco—"

"Don't you dare!" Hermione returned, drawing her wand. "You have no idea what it's like to be constantly judged and called something as foul as _Mudblood_, or having your family threatened—"

"_Have no idea what it's like to be constantly judged?_ Granger, you are judging me right now and don't even realise it! Merlin, you are not only narrow-minded but also hypocritical to boot—"

"Shut up!"

"Don't tell me to shut up—"

"ENOUGH!"

Something dark appeared in the middle of the room, and both girls found themselves aiming their wands at Parvati Patil, who, until now, must have been sitting quietly in the corner.

"Put your wand down, Granger; your behaviour is unbecoming of a prefect. You too, Fay. Everybody is upset as it is after what happened to Katie, so there will be no other incidents, is that clear!?"

The effect of Parvati's appearance was sobering. Both girls realized they had been shouting, and they quickly lowered their wands.

"You're right, Parvati," Hermione said, drawing a breath. "I shouldn't have overreacted like that. But I can still tell you this, Dunbar: Harry is my friend, and he has the right to know the truth about you."

And on this note, she exited the room, leaving Fay with a curious and alert Parvati Patil.

A sob tore its way out Fay's chest. She knew that Granger—who had never particularly liked her in the first place—would put an end to the mission she had been leading with Harry, and surprisingly, it hurt more than she could have anticipated. Unbeknown to her, she had become attached to the whole idea: it gave her a purpose, it made her happy, and it was fun. And now, it was most certainly over, she just _knew_ it.

"Fay?" Parvati called carefully while Fay struggled to suppress her tears.

"N-n-not now, Parvati!"

"Fay, don't be silly! Talk to me, maybe I can help. Granger can sometimes turn very cruel…"

Fay merely shook her head. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than just go back in time and start all over again.

_Why had she had to mess up her very first mission? Why? _

Granger would now tell Harry most horrible things about her, and since they hadn't discovered anything important in the dungeons, Harry would surely believe one of his best friends.

As Fay was about to collapse, though, yet another blow came upon her. The dormitory door opened again to reveal a windswept and panting Lavender Brown, still clad in her coat.

"Dunbar!" she cried. "There you are. Auror Williams wants to see you; he says it's urgent. Snape and McGonagall are with him. Are you in trouble?"

* * *

**An**: Alrighty, another chapter down! I understand that Hermione seems much like an antagonist of the story at the moment, but it's understandable that she's feeling quite over-protective.

Question of the day: what do you think, are the fingerprints of identical twins also identical?

Enormous "thank you" and a jar of virtual chocolate cookies to my beta **Tarpeia**.


	6. Chapter 6: Frail Coppery Trail

"Auror Williams?" Fay repeated, confused.

"You know, the one who was checking us for forbidden items when we were leaving for Hogsmeade?" Lavender responded casually.

All the blood drained from Fay's face. If the Auror was looking for her, one thing was clear: they had been busted. The Auror had somehow managed to see through their diversion. Now they _really_ were in trouble.

"Fay, are you all right?" Parvati asked, watching her intently. "You're rather pale—and goodness, what are these clothes?"

Lavender now saw it, too: Fay's robes were much too short and large for her, and her tie and a badge were missing altogether.

When Fay didn't answer, the two other girls seized the initiative.

"Don't just stand there, Lav; help me," Parvati ordered.

"W-what are you doing?" Fay stuttered.

"Helping you—you look like you're wearing someone else's ill-fitting clothes," Parvati explained. "We'll shrink them a bit. Stand still."

"Here, take my tie," Lavender offered, quickly taking hers off to put it around Fay's neck.

"You're missing your badge, too," Parvati noticed. "Never mind—take mine!"

"Thank you, girls," Fay sniffed, truly grateful for their assistance.

"Right. I think you're good to go," Parvati announced a few moments later, looking her over with a critical eye. "What do you think, Lav?"

"Not yet. Her hair looks _dreadful_—"

"Hey!" Fay protested, a tad defensive. "I like my hair! It always looks like that."

"You poor thing… But other than that, you can face your Auror now," Lavender conceded. "He's waiting for you in McGonagall's office, by the way."

Fay lost no time making her way down the stairs, her mind full of anxiety and possible theories as to why the Auror would want to see her.

It seemed to her, this time that Minerva's office was situated much closer than usual. After what felt like mere seconds, she was standing outside the office. She knocked and was told to enter.

Minerva was sitting at her table, her face sombre. Right behind her loomed the former Potions Master, his gaze stony and positively terrifying. Auror Williams was waiting a little further away, his posture neither tense nor quite relaxed.

Fay immediately recognised the professional stance she'd seen certain Aurors assume.

"Finally, Miss Dunbar!" Minerva barked at her Gryffindor student. "About time. Auror Williams has been very worried—well, I'll let you to it."

"You're not in trouble, Miss, don't worry," the Auror assured Fay, taking over the conversation. "I simply wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Err… why shouldn't I be all right?" Fay asked.

The Auror gave her an impenetrable look. "It so happens, Miss Dunbar, that there was an attack on a student earlier this afternoon. The students lingering at Hogsmeade after the incident were assembled and escorted back to the castle. You were not among them, which, for understandable reasons, I found quite worrisome. May I ask when and through which entrance you returned?"

"Well, I… I returned…," Fay muttered lamely. She was now beginning to sweat.

This had been a major miscalculation. The Aurors had obviously been keeping track of all the students who had entered or left Hogwarts in the last months, and Fay had not registered while returning to the castle: she hadn't been able to because she had used one of the secret passages. But how was she going to explain this? There really was no way to explain her mysterious return without mentioning the said passage. Worst of all, Snape was now going to find out about its existence—something Fay wished to avoid at all costs.

A full minute had passed, and Fay was still struggling to come up with an adequate lie. The Auror was throwing her suspicious looks, and so were the teachers.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Miss Dunbar, just answer the question!" Minerva ordered, unwilling to take any more of Fay's incoherent mumbling.

"Am I correct to guess that there is something you want to tell us, but are too afraid of getting into trouble?" the Auror asked gently, taking a step towards her.

As a trained professional, he must have spotted all the typical signs of withholding the truth. For instance, Fay was unable to look him in the eye. It was difficult as it was to come up with a convincing story; if she looked up, she'd see genuine worry mixed with suspicion, and she certainly didn't want to appear guiltier than she already was.

"If this is the case," the Auror continued as gently as before, "then I assure you, nothing of the sort will happen, you have my word. I'm sure your professors will give me their full support—isn't that right, Mrs McGonagall, Mr Snape?"

"I have no say when it comes to the punishment of Gryffindor students," Snape declared sullenly, sounding as though he wished the opposite were true. "Not to mention that I have been summoned here for an entirely different purpose."

The Auror turned to Minerva, who had her lips pursed in discontent.

"Well, it would depend on the severity of Miss Dunbar's misstep, though I can agree to bend the detention policy for the sake of your investigation… But surely you can answer a simple question, Miss Dunbar: when and through which entrance did you come back from Hogsmeade, and why on earth didn't you register?"

"I… I… I came back…"

Fay was saved by a light knock on the door. A beautiful young woman with a heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair peeked in. It didn't escape the guilty Gryffindor's notice that she, too, was wearing an Auror badge.

"Yes, Tonks?" Auror Williams asked.

"Oh, there you are! Are you questioning the lost damsel?" the young Auror inquired, "There's no need—I am the one who escorted her back to the castle."

"Really?"

Auror Williams's voice was interrupted by Minerva's loud, "_then why on earth didn't you just say so?'_

"Well, I was shocked by… by what happened to Katie. She didn't deserve it… I mean, she's never done anything to anyone," Fay invented wildly, praying it sounded realistic enough. It was partially true, since she really felt sorry for her fellow Gryffindor.

"Did you witness the attack, then, Miss?" Auror Williams resumed his questioning.

"Err, not exactly. Parvati—Parvati Patil, a classmate of mine—mentioned it."

"Speaking of which," the Auror named Tonks interrupted, "are we to follow the standard protocol regarding the attack?"

"No, Tonks," Auror Williams answered with a side glance at Snape. "The Headmaster thinks it's sufficient to trust Mr Snape's expert opinion on the matter."

Fay furrowed her eyebrows. She wasn't quite sure what the _standard protocol_ entailed, but she was fairly certain that the circumstances ought to be documented and all the witnesses ought to be questioned. If this 'Tonks' shared her opinion, however, she didn't show it but merely shrugged it off.

"All right, then," the young Auror said. "Now that this matter is cleared up, I'll escort the lost damsel to the Gryffindor Tower. Oh, and Snape, you should know that one of your students is still in the Three Broomsticks. He absolutely refuses to leave unless his personal toilet seat follows suit… He asked for your assistance and confidentiality."

"Seeing how _confidential _you have been, Nymphadora," Snape drawled sarcastically, "I'd say my work is considerably reduced, wouldn't you agree?"

"Great," Tonks answered briskly, ignoring his sarcasm, "it's all set then. Let's go, Faith."

Fay didn't bother correcting this corruption of her name. She hastily followed the young woman, seeing her as her only way out of this precarious situation. New questions were starting to spread in her mind like doxy eggs on an old curtain. The most important questions of all were: who was this young Auror, and why had she helped her?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"How did it go?" Harry asked as soon as he saw Tonks emerge from McGonagall's office, a meek Fay at her heels.

"Harry!" Fay exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. "How did you know?"

"Parvati and Lavender told me," the boy explained before turning back to the young Auror. "Well?"

"Just as expected: awful," Tonks answered promptly. "Arnold will be at my back the moment he steps out of that room, and, want it or not, you will have to tell him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You can start now, but first, let us get acquainted. I'm Tonks, as you've undoubtedly already heard."

"Just 'Tonks'?" Fay asked curiously.

"Auror Tonks, if you wish—never mind my first name. And you are?"

"Fay Dunbar, Gryffindor. I'm in Harry's year."

"Pleased to meet you, Gryffindor Fay. So what did you and Harry get yourselves into?"

"Well," Fay began, looking sideways at Harry, who gave her a quick nod, "Harry and I were leading an investigation…"

"Investigation, you say?" Tonks repeated curiously. "You know, let's wait for Arnold—here he comes."

The Auror who had been interrogating Fay emerged from McGonagall's office, looking tired and unhappy, yet still alert. Harry and Fay exchanged a disconcerted look.

"Well, Tonks, care to enlighten me?" Auror Williams asked stiffly.

"Enlighten you?" Tonks sighed. "Why, aren't you quite a little sunshine already?"

"_Tonks_," the man said pointedly to indicate that he wasn't in a joking mood.

"Excuse me, Sir," Harry spoke up, judging this was the right moment to address the older Auror. "This matter is confidential, and I would appreciate it if we could talk somewhere more private."

"You are involved as well, aren't you?" the Auror commented before turning to back to Fay. "Is that why you were so awfully chatty with me, Missy? You were covering for your friend, weren't you?"

For some reason, Fay found herself blushing. The Auror's words had been neither mocking nor suggestive, but something about the way he had phrased his question seemed to imply that she and Harry had conducted themselves like a couple of rookie delinquents.

"How about in here?" Tonks offered, gesturing towards an empty classroom. "We can ward it, and nobody will overhear us."

"Well, after you," Arnold said to Harry and Fay.

The teens could recognise a lost case when they saw one. As soon as the wards were in place and everybody took a seat, they told the Aurors everything they had done.

A stunned silence followed the confession. Arnold Williams even pinched himself discreetly to make sure he was fully awake and had processed the information correctly.

"In other words," he summarised at last, looking directly into Harry eyes, "you drugged another student with an unknown substance to give him a severe case of diarrhoea, and then you impersonated the said person and broke into another student's dormitory? Where did the Polyjuice potion come from?"

"I stole some from Professor Slughorn," Fay dead-panned, making everything worse.

"Right—so I can safely add theft to the list."

"It sounds bad when you put it like that, but we did it for a noble purpose," Fay pointed out stubbornly. "Besides, can't we work something out? I could offer you a special discount…"

Her voice died away, but judging by the Auror's expression, it was too late.

"Well," Tonks mused, "it certainly shows that you're a Gryffindor, lass—if a 'Puff was accused of theft, imposture and break-in, I doubt he or she would be so prompt to add bribery to the list of charges…"

"I didn't mean—," Fay amended, horrified, and she pressed a hand against her mouth like a small child. "I mean, I want to be an Auror myself, I... My dad is one… Please, I—"

"Merlin's beard, relax!" Tonks exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Don't you see I was just pulling your wand?"

It was true; Auror Williams was actually smiling.

"Oh dear, this is so funny," he said. "But you two must understand that you have committed a series of acts that could very easily be considered crimes—no matter how noble the purpose."

"Exactly," Tonks agreed. "Don't you realise that Blaise Zabini could be given a toilet seat as a Christmas present or nicknamed 'Blaise Toilettini' because the two of you didn't—"

She stopped speaking as both Harry and Fay had burst out laughing at _Toilettini_, finding the nickname extremely funny despite the gravity of the situation.

"You're making us look unprofessional, Tonks," Auror Williams sighed. "Now listen here, I have enough experience to recognise truly dangerous people, and I can see that this is not the case. However, your actions cannot be justified. You overstepped the boundaries and must acknowledge it. And what is worse, you've endangered the health of another student: because of your actions, Mr Zabini is now having a rather unpleasant case of diarrhoea. I will check, as discreetly as I can, if he is all right. If he isn't, I won't stay quiet on the matter. Your teachers will be notified, and appropriate punishments will be assigned. You will also have to answer to Mr Zabini's parents. Am I making myself clear?"

"And if he is all right?" Harry asked.

He was now feeling truly uncomfortable. The Auror's speech had made him realise how ill-conceived their plan had been. A quick glance in Fay's direction confirmed his guess that she was feeling the same.

"If he is all right, it will stay between us—but only this once," Arnold Williams promised. "I don't want to catch you breaking rules again. I trust you've learned your lesson, though, and that you won't endanger other people's lives any more. Now, tell me what caused you to suspect Mr Draco Malfoy in the first place."

Harry told the Auror everything he had been repeating to Ron and Hermione for weeks before reaching the point in the story when Fay had discovered an old family heirloom under Malfoy's pillow and some copper dust on his bedside table.

"Copper dust?" Arnold Williams asked. "Are you completely sure?"

"I am," Fay assured. "I burnt it, and the flame turned green."

"YOU DID WHAT?" Tonks cried out, horrified. "Don't you realise you destroyed the evidence?!"

"I… I… Hermione Granger mentioned the Muggle qualitative chemistry, and when Harry said the dust came from some metal, I… It was a wrong thing to do, wasn't it?"

"It was a very wrong thing to do, Miss," Auror Williams admonished, though he now looked even more tired than before. "The idea of establishing what kind of metal you were dealing with was certainly commendable, but you used a rather destructive method, which makes it impossible for us to verify your test results."

"And since you don't have this dust any more, we can't compare it to the metal dust we found on the package containing the necklace that had been used to curse Katie Bell," Tonks added. "This means we only have your word for it—a piece of information we cannot share with anyone if we are to keep you out of trouble."

"Only if Mr Zabini is all right, Tonks," Arnold reminded her. "Don't forget that."

"Oh, don't worry," Tonks said dismissively. "Toilet… I mean, Mr Zabini was afraid to leave the bathroom out of shame rather than anything else; otherwise he was perfectly fine. However, you two"—she turned again to Harry and Fay—"should learn to be more discreet. I mean, you really shouldn't have chatted all that long to distract old Arnold; in our practice, it's a mistake called _overexposure_—"

"Really, Tonks…" Her older colleague shook his head. "You're now teaching these kids even better ways to get away with their mischiefs. Aren't they fairly good already?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Harry intervened again, "but I think Fay and I should be on our way back to the common room."

The Aurors stopped their bickering at once. The clock was ticking, and they had already spent too much time talking. If they wanted to keep this meeting secret and to keep the teens out of trouble, they all had to hurry.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Harry, Fay and Tonks reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry gestured for Fay to go on while he stayed behind with the only Order member, besides Lupin, he could still trust.

"Tonks, I want to ask you something; it's important for me," he said. "Do you know what Dumbledore is doing?"

"What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry chose his words carefully—there were many things he wanted to know. In the end, he decided to start with the simplest question.

"I overheard Auror Williams talking to another Auror, and they seemed quite displeased about not being allowed to follow the protocol. What does this mean?"

"You're rather interested in the Auror work this year, aren't you, Harry?" Tonks asked, smiling, but Harry noticed her amusement was rather shallow, just as it had been in the classroom where he and Fay had confessed their guilt.

The Tonks that now stood before him was not the perky, pink-haired witch he had once known, but a sombre, sad, and tired young woman who seemed to have lost her bubbly personality.

Nevertheless, Harry did not pry but simply answered her question; after all, nobody could be the same after what had happened in June.

"Yeah," he said, "I now pay more attention to it."

Tonks nodded. "Then I'm going to assume you are familiar with the circumstances in which the attack occurred."

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Ron told me how it had happened, except for the details—he said there had been some cursed object Katie had touched."

"That's exactly what happened—someone put Miss Katie Bell under the Imperius Curse and gave her the package with the cursed necklace, which she was supposed to deliver to the castle. The package broke loose while she was carrying it, and Katie's finger came in contact with the cursed item. You know the rest."

Harry nodded.

"What about the protocol, though?"

"Well, the 'standard protocol' is about documenting all the evidence and questioning the witnesses; in this case, it would mean lending the cursed necklace to the Aurors for examination and questioning the entire student body," Tonks explained. "However, the Headmaster would not allow it. Snape took a look at the necklace, and no further questioning will be taking place."

"But why?" Harry asked again. "What if whoever cursed Katie is in the castle? What if it's Malfoy?"

"Dumbledore must have his reasons." Tonks shrugged. "Perhaps he wants to avoid any connections with the Ministry Aurors, or perhaps he reckons the existence of the Order would otherwise be revealed to the wider public. I don't know. Either way, we simply have to trust Dumbledore. Besides, not all the Aurors are like old Arnold—he's one of those rare decent guys who are still left at the Ministry; the majority will switch sides as soon as the opportunity arises…"

"I see," Harry muttered, starting to understand how complicated everything really was. "Do you know where Dumbledore disappears, though?"

"I'm sorry Harry, but I don't. Go on now," Tonks urged him. "I need to be going, and it wouldn't do for you to stay here—oh, and Harry, try to avoid food poisoning when you plan your next diversion."

Harry absently nodded and complied with Tonks' request, but as soon as he climbed through the portrait hole, he found himself face-to-face with an irate Hermione, an astonished Ron and a confused Ginny, and judging by their facial expressions, they all wanted to have a really long talk with him.

_Just wonderful_, he thought sarcastically to himself.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**An**: Our dinky Aurors have committed quite a few mistakes, which was only to be expected - nobody's born absolutely perfect. However, it also means that Snape, Harry's friends, two Aurors, and possibly some other people are now alerted. So if the mission continues, our Gryffindors will have to learn to be more subtle. Things might get heated.

Special thanks to my perfect beta and my dear readers. I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying the story.


	7. Chapter 7: Mission Over?

Monday morning arrived, and Harry found himself having breakfast all alone in the far corner of the Gryffindor table. The row he had had with Ron and Hermione the previous weekend had been one of the worst ones the trio had yet experienced—save, perhaps, for the period during which both Ron and Harry would refuse to talk to Hermione because the girl had caused the Firebolt to be confiscated by McGonagall.

Harry had been forced to come clean and tell Ron and Hermione everything he had done: how he had planned his mission with Fay, how he had tricked them, and how he had ventured to the dungeons, disguised as Blaise Zabini. In the end, Hermione had told him quite a few 'truths' that had really got to him while Ron wouldn't speak to him anymore because in his opinion, it was insulting of Harry not to have confided in him. Harry had pointed out that whenever he mentioned his suspicions on Malfoy to either Ron or Hermione, they would immediately feign deafness, but this hadn't mollified them. Neither of them seemed to believe they had abandoned Harry when he had really needed them. They simply didn't see it that way. Hermione had even started referring to his suspicions as 'his Death-Eater theory'.

"Brooding, are we?" a melodic voice trilled, and Harry distinctly caught the flowery scent he'd felt earlier in the Burrow and in Slughorn's dungeon.

He looked up to see Ginny Weasley smiling down at him.

"Hey, Gin," he said dully. "How are you doing?"

"All things considered, I think I'm doing pretty well—definitely better than you at the moment."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered moodily.

"You know, you kind of brought it on yourself," Ginny countered playfully, winking at him. "Don't worry, though; it happens to the best of us. Next time, you'll be smarter and you'll ask for my advice."

Harry cracked something of a smile at this joke.

"What are you going to do about Quidditch, though?" the redhead continued, more serious now.

"Well, we do have a Reserve Chaser," Harry reminded her.

"Right," Ginny mused, "this Fairy girl... Hermione told me about her, you know. I doubt it's a good idea to include her. Why not give McLaggen a chance? I mean, he almost made it to the team."

"Ginny," Harry said earnestly, "I'd rather throw myself off the Astronomy Tower than include him."

"Oh, my," Ginny commented, wide-eyed, "such hostility! What did poor McLaggen ever do to you? Oh, never mind… Hermione won't be happy. She says this crazy Fairy invents all kinds of silly stories and then goes looking for proof that these stories are true… Sounds like a St. Mungo's escapee, if you ask me."

"Fay's all right. Hermione is just being… stubborn," Harry retorted, tired and annoyed. He suddenly recalled the way his best friend had once treated Luna.

He was feeling less annoyed at Ginny than at the whole situation.

"If you say so." Ginny shrugged. "Though I have to agree with Hermione that you are being horribly childish and reckless."

"Did Hermione put you up to this?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"No," Ginny said. "At least not directly. We're just worried about you, Harry. We all care a lot about you, you know."

"I appreciate it," Harry said honestly. "But I'm still capable of making decisions without your meddling, and if Ron and Hermione think otherwise, remind them of Hagrid's egg—they'll know what I mean."

"Hagrid's egg?" Ginny echoed, sounding genuinely nonplussed.

Naturally, she wouldn't understand; she wasn't at Hogwarts when Harry had figured out who had given Hagrid the dragon egg. True, he had wrongly accused Snape, but the rest had been deduced correctly, and it did hurt him to know that both Ron and Hermione now tended to forget about those instances, taking him for some kind of lunatic.

"All right, I'll tell them that," Ginny promised. "But you know, I still think you should avoid that Fairy girl and get McLaggen on the team."

"Ginny, I don't want to fight with you—"

Harry never got to finish his sentence as Dean Thomas suddenly appeared at their side, looking angry and hurt.

"Why is it of such importance to you, Gin?" he asked his girlfriend. "Harry's the captain, and he'll know what to do. Besides, this Fairy flies well enough, and she can't be any worse than McLaggen…"

"Oh, you don't understand _anything_, Dean," Ginny snapped. "I think I'm full now. See you later."

Ginny quickly walked away, leaving Harry and Dean in an awkward silence. It could be Harry's imagination, but it seemed to him that his roommate was giving him suspicious looks. Harry couldn't fathom out why.

Fortunately, the appearance of Luna Lovegood saved the situation.

"Hello, Harry," the Ravenclaw girl said dreamily.

"Hi, Luna," Harry returned, genuinely happy to see her. "Nice to see you! How are you?"

"Thank you, Harry," Luna said, smiling. "I feel very lonely, to be honest. Now that there are no D.A. meetings, there is nothing to look forward to."

"Well... err, you know, there's really no need for meetings this year. I mean, with Umbridge gone," Harry mumbled guiltily, feeling sorry for the girl.

"It's all right, Harry," she assured him. "I spend my days drawing. I find it very relaxing, you know. Oh, by the way, your head is full of Wrackspurts! For some reason, they find you very attractive."

"Well, I'm glad there's _someone_ who still likes me," Harry joked, grateful for the subject change.

His jest worked: Luna actually smiled.

"You're funny, Harry. Most people wouldn't be happy about Wrackspurts making a nest in their brain."

"So what brings you to the Gryffindor table?" Harry asked, smiling back.

"Fay Dunbar asked me to come over; she says it's necessary that you join her before Quidditch practice. She said something about Auror Williams."

"I see," Harry said slowly, wondering what _this_ could be about. It was better to change the subject again. "How do you know Fay?"

"Oh, she occasionally helps me retrieve my stuff," Luna answered. "I think she enjoys helping me—she always tries to figure out who took my things and where they might have hidden them."

"Are people still stealing your things?" Harry asked, frowning. "It's not right."

"That's very sweet of you, Harry, but don't worry, I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be used to it," Harry protested. "Anyway, thanks for telling me."

He said goodbye to Luna, promising himself to look into this new case of Ravenclaw bullying, and went to meet Fay. He really hoped there would be no trouble this time.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fay was waiting for him behind a pillar in the Entry Hall. Harry almost failed to notice her as he walked by.

"Psst! I'm here," the girl whispered.

"Fay! Why are you hiding?"

"I don't want to cause you any more trouble, to be honest," she said, looking at him sympathetically.

Naturally, Fay was aware of the fight he had had with Ron and Hermione. The whole Gryffindor House probably knew by now.

"Listen, Fay—," Harry started, but the girl didn't let him finish.

"Harry, you don't have to explain anything. Listen, I'm going to talk to Auror Williams, and I want you to come with me. I think it's important."

"I see," Harry said. "Wouldn't it be better to talk to Tonks, though? I mean, Auror Williams seems decent, but we don't really know him, do we?"

"Auror Tonks is not at Hogwarts today—I checked."

"Can't it wait?" Harry reasoned. "We can always talk to Tonks when she returns."

Fay bit her lip. She could see Harry's lack of enthusiasm in the matter.

"No, I think it's better not to postpone it," she insisted.

"All right." Harry sighed. "What is it about?"

"I don't like the way they handled Katie's case; it isn't proper. I want to hear what Auror Williams has to say about it."

"All right," Harry repeated dejectedly, "let's talk to him."

Auror Williams was not difficult to find: he was patrolling the ground floor of the castle.

He wasn't happy to see them, though.

"It's you two again," he grunted. "What is it you want now? Have you stirred more trouble?"

Harry had been expecting such a treatment, so he instinctively lowered his eyes, looking every ounce as ashamed as he felt.

To his surprise, Fay wasn't intimidated. In fact, she acted as though the previous day had never happened. At the Auror's sarcastic and somewhat mocking question, she looked him directly in the eye.

"No, Sir," she said very seriously. "We need to talk to you."

"Talk to me?" the man echoed, eyeing the girl suspiciously. "What can we possibly talk about, Miss? And as a matter of fact, shouldn't you already be in class?"

"This is important, Sir," Fay insisted. "I—we—want to know why you aren't doing anything about Katie's attack."

To say that the Auror wasn't pleased with such an inquiry would have been an understatement. He stared at the teen for a long moment before grumbling that this was neither the right time nor the right place to discuss it.

"Then why don't you walk us to Hagrid's hut?" Harry offered. "Professor Hagrid lives on Hogwarts grounds, and we could talk further away from the castle without leaving its territory. It will give you a good excuse, too."

"Learning to cheat rather quickly, aren't you, lad?" the Auror pointed out, raising his eyebrows. "Should I remind you two that you are treading on a very thin line here? I'm pretty sure you would be serving a rather harsh detention right now if Tonks and I hadn't given you a chance."

Harry felt himself blush as his guilt resurfaced. He now wished he hadn't given Zabini that experimental _Skiving Snackbox _candy. After all, Fred and George had warned him they weren't sure about all of its effects. It was like experimenting with Prince's spells all over again.

Fay, on the other hand, wasn't so easily fazed.

"What we did was wrong," she stated. "We do admit it, and we are sorry. But won't you ask us _why_ we did it before you condemn us? I'll tell you why: because bad things are happening, and innocent people are getting injured, and nobody is doing anything about it! What if your little child got attacked next—would you be so indifferent then?"

By the end of her speech, her voice had risen about an octave, and she resembled McGonagall more distinctly than ever. It was no wonder that Auror Williams, a man twice or even thrice their age, looked very uncomfortable. Any decent person would be ashamed of his or her passive attitude in such a situation.

"I am indeed father to a small child. How do you know?" the Auror asked slowly, scrutinizing Fay. "Who told you?"

"No one told me," the girl answered. "I know you have a small child—a toddler—at home as I know that you have recently put on about seven and a half pounds and that you have a rather slack house-elf. I can deduce it from your appearance."

"I'm listening," the Auror prompted.

"Well, the gain of weight is obviously the easiest thing to spot—the shirt you are wearing is a little tight for you, but it had to suit you just fine when you bought it, which leads me to think that you have gained weight only recently and not much more than seven pounds. Am I correct to assume that you got married not a long time ago? Because wedlock tends to have that effect on men."

"All right, that was easy," Auror conceded. "I got married over the summer. What about the baby and the slack house-elf?"

"The stain on your collar," Fay pointed out. "It's baby food. Given that babies are not breastfed after twelve months, I reckon your child is definitely older than one yet still very small if he or she needs this type of nutrition. As to the bad house-elf, this was tricky to guess. The leather on your shoes is damaged; it's the kind of tearing that usually occurs when someone carelessly scrapes the mud from their shoes. And since it's the house-elves' job to clean their masters' shoes, I assumed that yours was either very clumsy or mean on purpose."

"Astounding observation skills, Miss," the Auror admitted. "You could have easily made a mistake on the house-elf because not all the wizards own one, but other than that, I must say I'm impressed."

At her side, Harry was impressed, too, and he made a mental note to start observing people more attentively. All too soon, Auror Williams called for his attention, speaking up again.

"Very well, then," he said. "Let me walk you to Professor Hagrid's hut. If anyone asks, I'm simply escorting you. What is it that this professor teaches?"

"The Care of Magical Creatures," Harry supplied.

The Auror nodded and led them out of the castle, which was, fortunately, quite deserted, for the rest of the students had already finished their breakfast and gone to class. They only encountered one person—a Ministry employee—on their way.

"Well, hello there, Williams!" the man greeted. "And where do you think you are going with these kids behind you?"

"Good morning, Selwyn," Auror Williams greeted back. "I'm escorting them to Professor Hagrid's class. They're late, and after what happened last weekend, they're afraid to go alone."

It was a lie, of course, but Harry and Fay acted along.

"I see," the man named Selwyn drawled, eyeing them speculatively. "Be sure to hurry, then, the classes have already started. Though I'm surprised they are scared—wasn't the matter in question handled with utmost discretion? I mean, there were only three witnesses to the accident: two prefects and the girl's friend, Leanne…"

"Right you are, Selwyn," Auror Williams conceded. "But you know kids; they love snooping about."

"Of course, of course. Don't run telling your friends, though," Selwyn said with a meaningful look at Fay and Harry. "The last thing we need is general panic."

Harry and Fay nodded hastily. For some reason, this Selwyn guy seemed very dodgy to Harry; he was too well-informed, yet he didn't wear the Auror badge. It was one of the problems he was going to question Williams about once they approached Hagrid's hut.

"The attack is being hushed up, isn't it?" Fay asked, walking at Harry's side behind the Auror.

They were now in a relatively safe territory, so they could speak freely.

"Yes, Miss, it is being hushed up," Williams admitted. "The Headmaster's orders."

"But why?" Harry asked.

"I think I can see why," Fay answered contemplatively. "To avoid panic. If this leaks out, people will understand that Hogwarts isn't safe anymore. Some parents want to withdraw their children as it is. Look at Parvati at Padma: their trunks are half-packed because their mother might take them to India any moment… And she doesn't even know the half of what's going on here—imagine if she did?"

"Exactly," Arnold Williams agreed. "Listen to your friend, lad; she's right. But it's not all there is to it. Imagine what would inevitably happen to the image of the school and its headmaster. The public morale is already low, and if people find out that the headmaster who happens to be one of the greatest wizards of the century cannot protect their children, it'll be a harsh blow to their sense of safety."

"Is that why you didn't follow the protocol, then?" Harry asked, catching on. "Because any questions would lead to even further questions as to what happened?"

The Auror nodded silently.

"But… but it could happen again!" Harry exclaimed before being interrupted by Fay.

"How serious is Katie's injury?" she asked. "I skipped breakfast to listen in on the various conversations in the castle. The students don't know anything. There is some silly rumour about Katie suffering from a food poisoning, but I know for sure that she was taken to St. Mungo's today."

Harry immediately registered the Auror's reluctance to discuss this question.

"Her injury," he said at last, "is very serious. Luckily for her, she appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin; there was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put the necklace on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly."

"Katie almost _died_?" Harry exclaimed, aghast.

"Yes," came the grave reply. "Mr. Snape was able to prevent the curse from spreading rapidly. And while I have my own reservations about the man, I think it's safe to say that Miss Bell is alive only thanks to his quick reaction and skills."

Harry digested this before finally repeating his question.

"What if it happens again? What if someone actually dies this time—will it be hushed up again for the sake of reputation?"

"_That_," Auror Williams intoned, "is a question you should ask the Headmaster. I am just a Ministry employee, and while it hurts me to be forced to be so passive and to appear so utterly incompetent in front of such bright and intelligent adolescents as yourself, I cannot go against the orders of the Ministry, and if the Ministry says we have to follow the Headmaster's orders while we are here, this is what I must do—otherwise I will lose my job."

Harry could understand this, even if he didn't like it any more than Fay, if her expression was something to go by.

"What about Draco Malfoy?" Fay spoke again, looking pleadingly at the Auror while Harry still digested what he had just heard. "You do believe us, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, but the fact that _I _believe you doesn't change anything. In order to charge Mr Malfoy with even as much as the possession of this dangerous artefact, precise proof would be needed. Only precise proof will give us the authority to question him under Veritaserum. Without proof, your accusations are unfounded… You also have to consider the fact that his mother is none other than Narcissa Malfoy. I'm not sure if you know, but Mrs Malfoy was born into the Noble and—"

"Most Ancient House of Black," Harry finished. "Yeah, I know. How does that matter?"

To his mild surprise, both the Auror and Fay looked at him with eyes as wide as Galleons.

"Don't you know, Mr. Potter?" the Auror asked. "I thought that you, of all people…"

"Politically speaking, the House of Black used to be very influential, Harry," Fay explained quickly. "Narcissa Black might have married Lucius Malfoy, whose name has been rather unpopular since last June, but the name of Black still carries weight… If necessary, Narcissa will use it to protect her son."

"But in that case, Bellatrix Lestrange should also be very important, shouldn't she be?"

"Considering that she is a wanted criminal, not really. But Narcissa Malfoy has never had any disputes with the law, and she is in her right to use her old political contacts—or at least those that still exist and are rather fond of the House of Black. In fact, certain people would be delighted to see a member of the former Black family politically active again…"

"I see," Harry said. "So if Sirius were alive and cleared of all charges, he, too, could have been influential, right?"

"Sirius Black? Yes, absolutely," Fay said. "Why do you ask, though?"

"I'd hate to interrupt our conversation, kids, but I think the Professor is on his way here," Williams announced suddenly.

True enough, the unmistakeable large figure of Rubeus Hagrid appeared in sight, carrying hay for the Hippogriffs.

"Oi, what yer doin' in me property?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore would return in time for their lesson, but as he hadn't received any notification saying otherwise, he knocked on the door to Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock sharp in the evening.

Dumbledore was there. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk in front of him, casting silvery specks of light across the ceiling.

"Sir," Harry greeted.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "You have had a busy time while I have been away, haven't you?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, defensive. He did feel guilty about his latest actions, after all, and the Headmaster's innocent question immediately made him feel both alert and somewhat uneasy.

"I believe you were quite put out by Katie's accident."

"Yes, sir. How do you know?"

"I was notified, of course; the news reached me quickly."

"No, I mean, how do you know I was affected by it?" Harry specified.

"How wouldn't you be? " Dumbledore said simply. "The accident affected all the students who witnessed it, and when it comes to such pure souls as you, Harry…"

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?" Harry asked.

"Impertinent," said a drawling voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms where he had appeared to be sleeping. "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day, although it certainly is amusing to watch the way your favourite pupil finally starts to doubt you, Dumbledore."

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore said a little sharply, just as the other portraits were about to reprimand the Black ancestor. "Who have you been discussing this case with, Harry?"

It was best not to lie to the Headmaster. The way Harry had phrased his question clearly indicated that he knew it was Dumbledore who had forestalled the interrogation of the students.

"I've spoken to Auror… Tonks," Harry said, deciding, at the last minute, not to implicate the man who had helped him. "Tonks said that the Aurors were not following the standard protocol because you wouldn't allow it. Why not, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed. "You are a smart young man, Harry. What do you think would happen if a full investigation had taken place at Hogwarts? "

"People would talk," Harry said, remembering the conversation he and Fay had had with the Auror.

"People would talk, "Dumbledore echoed softly. "And rumours would spread panic."

"Yes, but isn't Katie's life more important than the school's reputation?" Harry suggested with an earnest look at Dumbledore. "I mean, she almost died..."

Dumbledore merely gazed at him, sad and tired, his blackened, withered hand somehow ominous in the semi-dark office lit only by the fire cracking in the fireplace, the light of several candles and the Pensieve.

"Miss Bell is alive and will make a full recovery—that is what matters now," the old man said with a certain finality to his voice. Still, Harry couldn't let it go.

"But Sir—," he started before being cut off.

"Harry, do you honestly think this is only about reputation?" the Headmaster questioned, his face no longer benign. "Have I not proven to you last year that my reputation does not matter to me when more serious matters are at stake? When the entire wizarding Britain wistfully overlooked the return of Lord Voldemort, it did not deter me from notifying people of the danger they were in, even though my own reputation and the reputation of this school had to undergo a major blow. No, Harry, it is not solely about reputation."

"Then about what, Sir?" Harry asked. "Please explain—I don't understand."

"Harry, if a full investigation was to take place, the parents would immediately withdraw their children from school, and Hogwarts would be discredited and shut down. What would then happen to those who don't have anywhere to go? What would happen to such students as you, Mr Potter? Would you rather return to your aunt and uncle's?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "It just seems so unfair..."

"So unfair that you have decided to take the matter into your own hands, Harry?"

Harry looked up. From Dumbledore's face, it was plain that the latter knew all about his mission with Fay. Harry sensed who his source might have been.

"Have you spoken to Snape, Professor?"

"_Professor_ Snape told me about his suspicions," Dumbledore confirmed. "Funny that you should mention it, Harry. Is he correct in his assumptions, then?"

There was no point denying it, Harry knew, but he decided to be smart about his confession.

"I haven't done anything I should be ashamed of," he said. "I did it with the best intentions in mind."

"The best intentions," Dumbledore mused. "It's interesting how what we think is best often ends up doing more harm than we could have expected, isn't it, Harry? After all, when you stormed off to the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius, your intentions were of the best as well..."

"D'n't..." Harry choked out as a sudden pain enclosed his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

It was bad enough that Hermione had used Sirius's death against him during their row—he couldn't bear it anymore. He felt he was going to lash out any moment now—one last drop was all it would take.

"_Do you really think I don't understand what's happening, Harry?" Hermione had said. "You are denying your grief, and that's why you latch onto that Malfoy nonsense. It's a simple way for you to escape reality, and this crazy Fairy certainly isn't helping!"_

Harry shut his eyes, only vaguely aware of Phineas Nigellus hissing something from his frame.

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "I do not blame you in the slightest, but you must understand that such actions are hasty and ill-conceived. I'm only trying to spare you more grief and regret. I do understand that you are very upset about the way things are being handled, but believe me I shall take all the appropriate measures to investigate who might have had a hand in Katie's accident."

Harry nodded, unable to answer, to recover from the fact that the death of the only adult he could have trusted was being used so harshly against him.

"Now," the Headmaster said a little more brightly, "what should rather concern us is our lesson. I trust you remember the tale of Merope Gaunt?"

Harry choked down the retort that if their lessons were so important then why there was such a long gap between them. Instead, he paid attention. As the lesson progressed, Harry memorised everything he was viewing in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He got to know that Merope Gaunt had given birth to Voldemort while staying all alone and penniless in London. Unable to handle her grief, shame, and pain, the woman—whose health had already been remarkably poor after years of abuse in the hands of her demented family—had died, leaving her son at the very same orphanage where she had given birth.

This was where the story of Lord Voldemort began—in a poor war-torn orphanage, where no-one ever estimated how dangerous inborn sociopath tendencies might actually be if not discovered on time.

Harry didn't leave Dumbledore's office without taking note of the fact that the ring Dumbledore had been wearing the last time they had met was now gone.

Dumbledore didn't waste a moment after the door closed behind the teen. He collected some emerald green powder and threw it into the fire, calling out the name of Severus Snape.

For Dumbledore had not failed to notice that Harry was growing rebellious.

The Dursleys were used to blaming Harry for everything that went wrong in the house, and the feeling of guilt was now deeply rooted in his personality. As a fairly skilled psychologist, Dumbledore knew that if he pushed the right buttons, he could easily influence the boy. The education Harry had received from the Dursleys made his job easier. It was cruel, of course, he knew this much, but it was for the boy's own good. The less trouble Harry caused, the better.

"You called for me, Headmaster?" inquired the man with the sallow skin and semi-long greasy hair, emerging from the fire.

"Ah, Severus, it's good that you could come," Dumbledore greeted, smiling. "I'm afraid you were right about Harry—I've just spoken to him."

"I see," Snape drawled. "So you finally admit he is the one who poisoned one of my students and broke into the dungeons. Didn't I warn you this was going to happen?"

Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "Severus, you must understand the boy is still grieving. He is not himself…"

This was too much for Severus Snape. It never mattered to Dumbledore what the brat did: the Headmaster would always find ways to excuse Potter's misdeeds.

"Have you at least found out who his accomplice is?" the dark-haired man asked. "Because clearly our views on Potter differ and I'm sure you'll understand that I have no wish to try and open your eyes on this arrogant brat at this late hour."

Naturally, Dumbledore had been expecting such an answer, so he promptly turned Snape's request against the man himself.

"Your question on his possible accomplice is certainly interesting, Severus," he declared. "Why don't you investigate it? The portraits will help you. But please, Severus, be just and discreet."

Severus merely sneered, hating the headmaster for his lovely habit of assigning most unpleasant tasks to others rather than taking care of them himself.

"Naturally, Headmaster," he sneered, "Seeing how much more difficult Potter's meddling makes it for me to protect Draco, I'll do my best to eliminate this little... complication"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fay was waiting once again in the girls' bathroom on the second floor—the one that had served as their meeting place when they had been planning their mission.

She had a nagging feeling that something was about to go wrong.

At last, Harry came in, but he had this hollow, tortured look to him that didn't bode well.

"Hey, Harry," Fay greeted a little awkwardly, uncertain what to say next. "What did the Headmaster tell you?"

"Listen, Fay, we need to talk," the boy said.

"I know," she agreed. "I had another talk with Auror Williams when you were away. I asked him if he had been serious about me having accidentally destroyed the copper dust, and he said yes: having _any_ kind of evidence would permit them to question Malfoy because our accusations wouldn't sound so unfounded—"

"Fay," Harry interrupted, "listen, our actions can cause more damage than we think. Dumbledore said that with all this political tension, a bad reputation might actually force them to close Hogwarts. We need to stop."

Fay's eyes opened wide.

"I didn't think about that," she admitted. "But then, we just have to produce enough evidence so that Draco Malfoy would be questioned. The Aurors would take him away, and there would be no panic—"

"No," Harry said firmly. "We've done enough!"

"But—"

"No buts—enough is enough."

The teens stared at each other.

"Harry, why are you being like that?" Fay asked at last. "We started this investigation to prevent—"

"We are doing more harm than good," Harry said tiredly. "Look, as much as I hate the likes of Zabini, he really didn't deserve this."

Fay heaved an annoyed sigh.

"All right, Harry," she said. "You feel bad about it—I do, too—but think about it: when adults preach at us, they never ask about the reasons that made us act the way we did, and they never point us in the right direction. All they do is tell us off without giving us any valuable advice—"

"That's not what I meant. We acted no better than certain Slytherins—," Harry started to object, wanting to make it clear that it weren't for Auror Williams's words that had made him change his mind. Fay interrupted him, though.

"Second," she said, her voice rising, "it is important to learn from one's mistakes. You already have, Harry. You won't use any unknown spell or substance as a distraction ever again, will you? For all we know, you might even save Zabini's life one day. All the while, there are countless Slytherins who do nothing but bully the rest of the student body without any repercussions. Do you think Draco Malfoy and his friends feel bad about calling the Muggle-born students _Mudbloods_? No, they don't—they enjoy causing emotional pain! So really, while our actions weren't praiseworthy, they were by no means purposely bad."

Arms stubbornly crossed, the girl finished speaking, hoping that her words would have a little impact on Harry. She was afraid he was the kind of person who would beat himself up for every blunder he made.

Her expectations were futile, though. If anything, the boy had only grown angrier.

It puzzled Harry that Fay didn't understand his point. It wasn't about 'learning from one's mistakes to become a better person'; it was about knowing when to quit, and she obviously didn't. He had learned his lesson the hard way. How many times had he endangered his life and the lives of Ron and Hermione? Why had it never occurred to him that he shouldn't meddle, shouldn't go looking for trouble? If he had stayed in the castle the previous year, Sirius would still be alive... Hadn't Hermione told him that the two most wanted wizards in the country couldn't just have walked into the Ministry of Magic? He ought to have known it was a trap. It was all his fault. Dumbledore was right...

"You really don't get it, do you, Fay?" he asked, suppressing his fury with effort. "We need to stop before it's too late!"

"Why?" Fay asked, clearly put out. "Give me at least one solid reason why our mission should stop because I really disagree."

"Because it's beyond us—there's this whole reputation thing, Malfoy's connections—just everything, all right? We can't go against it!"

"Harry, I grew up seeing injustice everywhere; I know what's at stake. I understand your concerns about bad publicity, panic, chaos, and possible closing of the school, but I think we should investigate all the harder because innocent people get injured. I mean, doesn't it make you angry? If Katie had died, her death would have been hushed up for all the reasons we've listed! We must do something about it—"

"We won't do anything. Besides, it's high time for you to grow up and stop acting like a silly little girl, pretending to be some dinky Auror—"

Harry stopped abruptly as Fay sucked in a breath. She looked as if he had just hit her.

There was a long silence, during which they both could hear water drops falling into a sink from a faulty tap.

Myrtle's bathroom looked more disconsolate than ever.

"Silly little girl?" she repeated almost inaudibly, and Harry looked down, unable to hold her gaze. "You know, Harry, you are the last person I would have expected this from."

"Fay...," he said, his voice breaking. He desperately wanted to explain that he didn't mean what he had said, that it had been only empty words inspired by his anger. He wanted to explain that he wished to spare her this feeling of loss he now endured. A loss caused by his meddling in the things he should have never meddled in...

"Don't," she cut him off. "Don't say anything else; you've said enough."

She stormed out, leaving him standing miserably in Myrtle's bathroom.

Their mission was over, and most ironically, it had ended in the very same place it had begun.

* * *

**An**: Hey, guys, an angsty chapter, I know, but it's only because there were questions about the decisions made in the previous chapter. So, here is your explanation. Magical Britain is as good as at war, so even more panic and negative publicity against a single person the public yet trusts and respects, would be a horrible blow. Special thanks goes to the reader **_m_****_agitech _**for raising this subject in the first place._  
_

Now that it's settled, I assure it'll get better from here and Harry and Fay will work out their differences. They both have their respective reasons for acting the way they do.

While I'm at thanking people, then a modest "thank you" goes also to the readers nick-named _**guest **_and** _Tommy14_** ed alle mie ragazze _**Tarpeia**_ ed **_Inkfire_** - siete le migliori :)


	8. Chapter 8: A Shot in the Dark

When Parvati Patil woke up, the other girls were still asleep. Groggily, the girl left her warm bed and walked over to the window. It was still very early, and the night hadn't yet fully retreated to give space to a new day, yet Parvati could already see that the morning would be beautiful. The grass was shimmering with autumn dew.

A faint sniffing noise reached the girl, and she immediately turned around to look for a certain big, bandy-legged, ginger-coloured half-Kneazle with an ugly squashed muzzle.

Having failed to spot Granger's pet, she shrugged, dismissing the noise she thought she'd just heard, and headed for the bathroom, planning to take full advantage of the absence of the other girls while she used it.

Her reflection was the first thing that greeted her that morning. Looking closely at herself, she realised she really liked what she was seeing. Her face had a perfect oval shape, permitting her to accentuate her features with the most eye-catching earrings. Her nose was straight and slim; her eyes were deliciously big, mysterious, and as dark as the night; and her delightfully full lips allowed her to rock almost any shade of lipstick, be it matt, glossy, or nude.

Before starting to attend Hogwarts, Parvati used to worry she might not fit in; she had no way of knowing whether there would be any kids of Indian descent at school besides her and Padma. She had even thought that perhaps she'd rather fit in with the Mediterranean girls from Beauxbatons. But once she had actually come to Hogwarts, she had met Angelina Johnson and Cho Chang, two beautiful witches of African and Asian descent, respectively, and had understood that she shouldn't have worried.

It was all about confidence and the right spirit—something Gryffindors definitely didn't lack—not about one's origin. In fact, her exotic appearance only helped her stand out. She and Padma were considered to be the most beautiful girls of their year, closely followed by Lavender and the Slytherin Daphne Greengrass.

Parvati took her time with her morning routine, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, the night had fully subsided, and the first rays of sunshine were quickly invading the dorm.

The faint sniffing noise reached her again, and simultaneously, she stumbled upon something heavy and almost fell down.

A book.

Curiously, she picked it up. It was a volume of _Adventures of Auror Aubrey,_ which seemed to have been carelessly tossed on the floor.

Suddenly, the sniffing sounds made sense. And they most certainly weren't produced by a Kneazle.

Parvati made her way towards the furthest four-poster bed, the curtains of which were still drawn.

"Fay?" she asked quietly, peeking between the curtains.

The only thing not covered with a blanket was a tuft of mousy brown hair. The sniffing had stopped, though.

"Fay, I heard you," Parvati said quietly. "It's no use pretending you're asleep."

Fay's pallid, bleary-eyed face emerged from under the cover, only to dismiss her. "Go away, Parvati, I'm ill."

Parvati bit her lip. This was no ordinary 'illness'; it was an example of what might happen after a severe public humiliation or some other harsh emotional blow.

"Wait here, all right?" the Indian girl said at last. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back."

Hoping that Fay would comply, Parvati walked over to Lavender's bed.

"Lav," she whispered, shaking the blonde, "wake up."

"Mmm… lemme…," Lavender muttered sleepily, shrugging Parvati's hand off instinctively so that she could roll over and pull the blanket over herself.

Parvati was having none of this.

"Lav, wake up," she hissed again, shaking her friend with more vigour until the girl finally gave her an adequate response.

"Ugh, Parvati, what's wrong with you? It's so early…"

"Shhh," Parvati whispered. "Listen, we have a situation here."

"What's wrong?" Lavender asked, now curious and more alert.

"Something has happened to Fay," Parvati explained. "She looks dreadful. It's obvious that she's been crying all night, and I just found her favourite book tossed on the floor."

"Do you think Granger has a hand in this?" Lavender whispered back.

"No idea," Parvati admitted. "Doesn't fit Granger's style. But listen, go to the kitchens and bring some food up here. Be sure to include some blueberries, broccoli, grapefruit, oranges, chocolate... But don't just cram everything into a basket—try to create a tasty bouquet. Once done, tell Granger that you've overheard some girls planning to slip a love potion to Potter or Weasley—you know, to keep her busy. I don't want anyone listening in when I talk to Fay."

"All right," Lavender agreed. "But what makes you think that Dunbar will tell you anything?"

Parvati rolled her eyes in a self-explanatory manner. "Girl, please..."

"I'm still your best friend, though, aren't I, Pav?" Lavender asked suddenly, exhibiting an insecurity she so rarely showed.

"Of course you are," Parvati assured her. "Now go, we'll catch up later."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry Potter's day hadn't started much better than Fay's. His first class was Herbology. The night before, he had joined Ron and Hermione for dinner, hoping they would still accept him.

Thankfully, his friends hadn't rejected him, although things were slightly awkward between them. Hermione had been ready to make another remark about his reckless behaviour when Ron had stopped her, producing a Goblin-made silver goblet.

Harry had immediately registered the fact that the goblet bore the Black family crest on one side.

Apparently, that thieving git. Mundungus Fletcher had cleaned out 12 Grimmauld Place of everything valuable he had been able to find. Ron had seen him in Hogsmeade and had managed to wretch the goblet out of his hands before Mundungus had Disapparated.

Harry had been absolutely incensed at the news.

"You do realise that this git ransacked the house the moment Sirius was murdered?" he had shouted, making several people turn around and stare. "And you didn't bother to inform me earlier?! What were you thinking?"

"Hey, you were running about with that Fairy! Don't blame me now!" Ron had shouted back, taken aback by Harry's tone, and equally angry.

"We tried to tell you, Harry," Hermione had said hastily, tugging at Harry's sleeve, "but you wouldn't talk to us. Please, sit down; people are staring at you."

Harry had complied, breathing heavily and attempting to get his emotions under control. He would have surely tried to strangle that filthy criminal right there and then if the man had been present. There was something infinitely dirty and low about the whole affair. Stealing from another person was something beyond Harry's comprehension, but stealing from a man who had been murdered—that was a blasphemy!

This all had taken place the previous night. Meanwhile, Harry had calmed down. It was time to get on with the new day.

_What a joy_, Harry thought sarcastically, following Ron and Hermione to the greenhouses.

The only thing that consoled him at the moment was the fact that all three of them had reached some kind of silent agreement not to fight any more. They therefore opted for safer topics.

"So how was Slughorn's latest party?" Harry asked Hermione, putting on his safety goggles.

That day, they were working with unpleasant-looking, pulsating green plants that resembled grapefruits but were highly dangerous as they tried to get as much blood as possible out of the students.

"The party was quite fun, really," Hermione answered, her goggles already on, and her gloves at the ready. "It's a pity you so pointedly ignore these gatherings, Harry. I mean, Slughorn drones on about famous exploits, and true, he absolutely fawns over McLaggen because the latter is so well connected, but he served some really nice food, and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones—"

"Gwenog Jones?" Ron cried out, his eyes widening under his own goggles. "_The_ Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"

"That's right," answered Hermione. "Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but—"

"Quite enough chatter over there!" said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over with a stern look. "Potter, you are paired with Neville today, so come along and help him. He's already got his first pod!"

It was true: there sat Neville with a bloodied lip and several nasty scratches along one side of his face, clutching an unpleasantly pulsating green object that was trying to cause him as much damage as possible.

"Hey, Neville," Harry greeted, somewhat grateful for having got away from his best friends, who had resumed their bickering over Gwenog Jones as soon as Professor Sprout had walked away.

"Stab it in the middle," Neville instructed. "Yeah, like that..."

They continued working, and Harry found out that in Herbology, Neville was the best person he could have been paired with—even better than Hermione. It was as if Neville could calm the plants down with his mere presence.

"So, I've heard rumours that you're going out with Fay," Neville said after a while.

Harry looked up. "Look, it's not like that between us—"

"But you still admit that you've befriended her, right?" Neville asked.

"Yeah," Harry conceded, not failing to notice that there was something authoritatively protective about Neville's question. "Yeah, I incidentally stepped into her compartment on the train when I was looking for you, and we sort of befriended each other."

"Look, Harry, I know that you're a decent guy and everything, but I thought I'd still tell you: you'd better not make fun of her, okay?"

"Of course not!" Harry assured him, taken aback by such a suggestion. "I'd never—"

"Good, that's what I thought," Neville said hastily. "I knew you weren't the type, but I thought I'd still tell you—just in case, you know. Fay doesn't need any more of that..."

"You know Fay, then?" Harry asked. "I mean, I was sort of astounded when I realised she was in our year..."

"Don't worry, I know what you mean," Neville reassured him. "She keeps to herself a lot, keeps a low profile... Well, not so much lately. How serious is it between you two?"

Harry contemplated what to say to Neville. In the end, he decided to tell the truth, leaving out only certain details; he knew he could trust Neville.

"Fay and I had... eh, a little mission. We were keeping an eye on some dodgy people. You know, she's got excellent observation skills, and she agreed to help. But I... I blew it."

"What? Wait, why?" Neville sputtered.

"Well, Ron and Hermione weren't exactly thrilled at the prospect in the first place... But that's not it. I guess what happened is that there was a lot of fuss and miscalculation, and in the end, I... lost it. I... I'm so ashamed. You know, I just lost it and said something to Fay I shouldn't have."

"What exactly did you say?" Neville asked.

Harry sighed and told him more or less the whole story.

"Did you _really_ call her stupid?" Neville asked in disbelief once he finished listening.

"I'm not proud of it," Harry said honestly, wishing he hadn't been so foolishly impulsive. "I regretted it the moment the words had escaped my mouth."

"That's no good," said Neville. "Fay takes this kind of thing very seriously."

"How bad is it? Do you think she'll forgive me?"

"I don't know, but if you want Fay to give you another chance, you need to apologize and explain what made you say it," Neville answered honestly. "Do you remember how you stopped me from attacking Malfoy last year? You know, when he..."

"Made fun of St. Mungo's patients?" Harry finished grimly. "Of course I do. I'm sorry I held you back, but Crabbe and Goyle would have torn you to shreds."

Attacking someone's parents was something of a red line that could not be crossed; everybody knew that. When Malfoy had insulted Harry's mother, Harry, too, had been ready to finish Malfoy off on the spot, so he knew how awful it felt when someone insulted one's parents in such a way.

"Yeah, well, I don't know if Fay told you, but her dad was an Auror," Neville went on hastily.

"_Was_ an Auror?" Harry questioned, having noticed Neville's use of the past tense. "What happened to him?"

"Well, that's the great mystery. He disappeared while working on some case. It's not really up to me to tell you," Neville explained uncomfortably. "If Fay didn't tell you, she must have had her reasons. Anyway, Gran speaks very highly of the Dunbars—that's how I know Fay in the first place. Her mother runs a very good shop called Fæger Herbae. I really like visiting it. There are so many interesting plants and herbs—"

"Yeah, I know," Harry cut him off. "What about her dad, though?"

"Well, I don't know anything about him, but Fay has never really accepted his death. And then someone called her crazy—someone who didn't know what it was all about but found the insult amusing all the same—so rumours started spreading, and this is how it started. You know what some people at Hogwarts are like."

"Yeah, I know all right," Harry agreed, thinking back on all the times people had spread nasty rumours about him.

"Anyway," Neville continued, "if you call her crazy or stupid, it's bad. She takes it as a very serious insult. Back in our third year, when Smith made that nasty comment about her Boggart... it's a good thing Professor Lupin was there to smooth things out, or else I don't know what would have happened. I guess it depends on how you called her stupid; but after all the insults she's suffered from the others…"

Neville's voice trailed off uncertainly, and Harry felt even worse than before.

He hated himself for not having ever thought of getting to know Fay a little better. He suddenly realised that he had been horribly self-centred. It had been all about him: his mission and his catching of Malfoy. Perhaps Hermione was right—perhaps he _was _trying to escape reality this way. He truly didn't know any more. What he did know was that if he had bothered to just talk to Fay, he wouldn't have been so reckless with his words. Fay was now probably thinking that he was no better than Smith or Malfoy, who went around mocking people and their families in the most derogatory fashion, and it served him right.

Looking around, Harry understood that Fay had never showed up for the Herbology class.

Making up his mind, the boy made quite a few decisions at once.

"Hey, Neville, listen: do you mind going down to the dungeons with me?" he said.

"Dungeons?" Neville repeated, perplexed. "Why?"

"Well, the Gryffindor fifth years are having Potions right now, and I need to have a word with Colin Creevey. I thought I'd wait up for him on his way out of the dungeons, but I really want to avoid Snape and Slughorn, and they both might be lurking there."

"All right, Harry, I can do that."

"Thank you, Neville," Harry answered, genuinely grateful to the boy.

Neville might not have been his closest friend, but he was a remarkable person who had never let him down.

As they finished up their work in the greenhouse, Harry silently continued planning. He needed to give some orders to his hateful house-elf, Kreacher. Having to rely on a creature who only wished him a slow and painful death was like taking a shot in the dark, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Upstairs, in the Gryffindor Tower, Parvati had made some progress with Fay.

Slowly and reluctantly, with a lot of resistance and talking back, Fay had given up and told her Indian classmate all that had happened, leaving out only the confidential information that couldn't be shared.

At present, Parvati was arranging Fay's hair and giving her some fashion advice.

"Your hair is on the thinner side, so be careful how you brush it; you want to add more volume to it—like this. Now, since you like braids, I'd recommend trying a loose Dutch braid or the waterfall braid that smoothly turns into a curly ponytail."

"Mhm," Fay muttered, not really listening.

Parvati's combing felt like a pleasant scalp massage, and since she hadn't slept that night, tiredness was settling in, and she felt utterly relaxed and sleepy.

"All right, we're done. Wake up now," Parvati told her with a smile when the brushing stopped.

"Already?" Fay asked, disappointed.

"Yes, already," Parvati said. "You were positively purring, dear."

"No, I wasn't," Fay protested.

"Yes, you were—just like a cat," Parvati insisted. "Which is why we're moving on to your face."

"What's wrong with my face?" Fay asked, slightly apprehensive.

"Nothing's wrong with it," Parvati assured her, clearly amused by her reaction. "In fact, you have very neat and pretty features—the kind of that pug-faced Parkinson and that heavy-jawed Vane would kill for."

"Now you're exaggerating," Fay smiled.

"A little, perhaps, but I know what I'm saying," Parvati insisted. "You only need a little colour to accentuate and bring out your natural beauty. For your lips, I suggest you use the soft or sheer tones of pink and mauve. You should definitely avoid most shades of brown and caramel—leave them to Padma and me."

"Is this really so important?" Fay asked.

The way Parvati was speaking of beauty made the whole thing sound more complicated than their Transfiguration homework.

"Of course it's important—when you look good, you also feel good. Look in the mirror if you don't believe me."

Fay complied, a bit sceptical at first, and then truly surprised. Parvati hadn't done all that much—she'd just applied some colour to her lips and brushed her hair, adding a Charm to make it fall in waves—but the effect was very flattering all the same.

"Wow, Parvati, you're really good! You should have your own beauty line," Fay exclaimed.

"Do you really think so?" Parvati asked happily. "You know, that's what Padma, Lav, and I have wanted to do all along."

"To launch your own beauty line, really?"

"Absolutely. We got this idea from Flitwick, actually: his speech on Charms was so motivating that an idea occurred to us. What if we created a lipstick with an inbuilt Healing Charm? Or a lipstick charmed to change its colour depending on the surroundings—you know, lighter during the day but slightly darker at night, so that the witch would stand out no matter the circumstances?"

"That's a wonderful idea," Fay agreed, a bit surprised, but very happy to see Parvati so glad and enthusiastic for a change. "Hey, we could be associates one day—Fæger Herbae could certainly offer a beauty shelf. I can speak to mum..."

"Really?" Parvati exclaimed, almost jumping on the spot. "You would do that? That's so... But wait, what about your Auror dream?"

This brought Fay back to reality.

"It was stupid," Fay declared. "Maybe people are right to make fun of me. Maybe I just see what I want to see… Maybe I make up silly stories and—"

"No, they're not right," Parvati told her sternly. "Look, from what you have told me, it's plain that you and Potter are the only ones who suspected something bad might happen at Hogwarts despite the security measures. No one else bothered even paying attention. Quite frankly, you should be proud of yourself. Don't give up now."

Fay looked at her classmate.

"Not that I'm ungrateful for everything you've done for me, Parvati, but why such a change of attitude? You never helped me before; you never even talked to me during the five years we shared a dormitory."

Parvati sighed. "I know what you mean, but you and Granger always make us feel like a pair of stupid chickens."

"Do we?" Fay asked, surprised. "How so?"

"By showing off your knowledge of electricity and the Morse code and the Auror procedures and many other funny disciplines with names I can't even pronounce, all in that annoying self-explanatory way, and then snorting when we don't know something you do… Oh, and Granger _always_ snorts when she hears us discuss fashion. All of this. "

Fay stared at her.

"I'm sorry, Parvati, I didn't realise you and Lavender felt that way."

"Well, now you know," Parvati announced, arms crossed, before her expression softened. "I guess I'm now becoming a bit more mature, too... You know, now that there's a strong possibility that my mum would take me away."

Fay nodded, imagining how Parvati must feel but not knowing what to say.

She didn't have to say anything, though, because a moment later, Parvati spoke again.

"So what are you going to do about Potter?"

"I don't know," Fay admitted. "I felt so betrayed… I'd have never expected such a thing from _him_."

"You know what?" Parvati asked rhetorically. "Just ignore him. Trust me, I've been there. Potter seems like a nice boy at first, but later, you find out that he's just a self-absorbed, arrogant jerk. Do you know how awfully he treated me at the Yule Ball? I had spent hours and hours picking the right dress and accessories—in the end, they cost me a lot of money. The dress was custom-made, and I had it delivered from India. This ball felt like a dream come true, you know: something every girl would dream of—not to mention that I truly wanted to get to know that famous boy, who just happened to be my classmate. And how did it end? Potter was horrible. If it hadn't been for Luc from Beauxbatons, I'd have been simply devastated."

Parvati took a deep breath before adding one more sentence, "Really, this boy is so arrogant that he doesn't even care about the most elementary etiquette."

Fay bit her lip. Truth to be told, she wasn't sure it was arrogance. It actually seemed that Harry knew nothing about the etiquette. When he had told her that his aunt and uncle were Muggles, she had understood why Harry was unfamiliar with certain aspects of the wizarding world. But then, it sometimes appeared that Harry did not have any knowledge of the cultural aspects of the Muggle world, either.

Fay's mother had insisted that they regularly visit famous Muggle places so that Fay would understand the way the Muggle world had evolved. Fay's mother had spent hours teaching her about the different architectural styles of the contemporary United Kingdom, about the Tudor dynasty and the current rulers of Muggle England. Every time Fay and her mother returned from their trips, Fay would hastily add the facts she had learned into her notebook, which served her as her own interesting encyclopaedia.

Harry, on the other hand, had no idea which architectural sites were located all over the country or by which Muggle monarchs they had been built. It was as if his Muggle relatives had never taken him on any educational trips.

Still, it wasn't something she was about to comment on in Parvati's presence.

"You're right," she said instead. "I'll just stop seeing him. But there's a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Parvati inquired.

"I'm the reserve Chaser, and now that Katie's gone, I have to participate in the last game of the season."

"Do you really want to play, though?" Parvati asked.

"I don't know… I'm not sure."

"Well, then, it's settled: you obviously don't if you're hesitating. You need to resign."

It sounded very logical. The moment Parvati had voiced this solution, Fay knew it was the right thing to do. She would leave the team and forget about Harry. He would start hanging out with his friends again, and everyone would be happier.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Lavender Brown's day had been relatively calm, though she had been feeling less self-confident than usual. Her best friend had spent the whole day with Fay Dunbar, and while she didn't have anything against the girl, she felt a little vulnerable when Dunbar occupied her best friend like this.

These fears had only been dispelled once Parvati had come to tell her what had happened. As best friends, they shared almost everything. Parvati hadn't told Lavender anything the latter didn't already know. Apparently, Dunbar had befriended Potter at the beginning of the term, but they had recently had a row.

There was something Parvati had told her that had made Dunbar more endearing to her. According to Parvati, Dunbar hadn't laughed at their makeup line idea; on the contrary, she had promised to talk to her mother about it.

To Lavender, this was good news. She knew that Dunbar wasn't a fool. She had managed to get an _Outstanding_ in Potions under Snape's teaching, and since her mother ran an herb shop, she knew a lot about plants as well.

Still, there was something Lavender was looking out for. That night, Dunbar was going to resign from the team, and while this event didn't promise to be cheerful, Lavender couldn't help but feel curious how it would unfold.

Finally, this moment arrived. It was evening, and Gryffindors were relaxing in the Common room. Potter was there as well, his friends sitting nearby: Ron playing chess and looking so cute, and Granger doing her homework, as usual. The bossy girl obviously didn't know there was more to life than studies.

Dunbar walked up to Potter with a perfectly stony face.

Lavender held her breath. And so did Potter.

"Fay," she heard him mutter, though he visibly didn't get through to her.

"Here is my resignation application; I need you to sign it."

He stared at her, and presently, so did his friends.

Nobody spoke. Lavender was afraid to even blink for fear that she might miss something.

"No," Potter said at last. "I'm sorry, but you can't leave; you're our reserve Chaser. Think about the team—we really need you."

Dunbar's resolution was crumbling, her stony expression cracking. Just then, the two Gryffindors were promptly joined by Ginny Weasley.

"Harry, you can't make her stay if she doesn't want to," the red-haired girl said.

"Yes, he can!" Lavender cried out before she could stop herself, thus revealing that she had been listening in. "I mean, I sort of overheard you… Harry's the captain, and the decision is up to him. Hey, Ron!"

Having said all this, the blonde quickly retreated but remained within earshot.

Ginny shot her an annoyed glance that clearly told her not to meddle.

"Harry, we can take McLaggen on the team if Fay really doesn't want to stay."

"Thank you, Ginevra Weasley." Dunbar nodded in the direction of the petite Weasley.

Lavender noticed that Potter's friends still hadn't interfered but preferred to leave the decision up to him.

"All right, let's vote, then," Potter said dejectedly.

The team gathered. Ron, the cutest of the lot (_even his freckles were cute!_) was already there, of course, and so was his sister. The Beaters, Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes, had been sitting nearby, so they just came over, looking excited. Demelza Robins was the last one to join the group. McLaggen, who looked extremely pleased with himself, had been called, too.

"About time, Potter," the arrogant ponce said in a somewhat offended tone. "I was about to find you myself. Who's better than me to play for Gryffindor?"

Potter's hands, Lavender noticed, turned into fists. More and more people were gathering around to watch.

"The matter is now being decided, Cormac," Ginny Weasley snapped at McLaggen.

The situation was becoming really tense. Finally, Potter addressed the team.

"I have interrupted your evening activities because there is something that needs to be addressed before our final game against Slytherin. As you know, Katie Bell is not able to fulfil her Chaser duties under the circumstances. Fay, our reserve Chaser, has expressed the wish to withdraw from the team so that her position could be taken by someone else. Cormac McLaggen has expressed interest in the matter. In my opinion, we should vote."

Suddenly, Lavender felt Parvati tug on her sleeve.

"Is it already happening?" her friend whispered. "Somehow it's all so nerve-wracking!"

"Yeah, like those shows Muggles watch on that box called teletription. Shhh!" Lavender whispered back, observing the scene.

"Well, that's simple," Ritchie Coote, one of the Beaters, was saying. "I vote for the girl."

"Yeah, me, too," Jimmy Peakes agreed. "It's like a Gryffindor thing, having the best-looking girls as Chasers."

There were a few whistles and catcalls from the rest of the boys present in the Common room, and the Beaters high-fived each other.

"Demelza?" Potter asked, sounding somewhat triumphant.

"Oh, I really don't know... Can I think about it a little bit?"

Potter nodded.

"Ron?"

Parvati and Lavender exchanged a look; this was an important vote.

"Listen, mate, I don't… Fairy's fine."

This time, Parvati and Lavender actually smiled. Somewhere in the middle of the gathering, they had started rooting for Fay.

"All right, this means that four members of our team have voted for Fay. What about the rest of you?"

"Four, Harry?" Ginny Weasley repeated. "You've only asked Ritchie, Jimmy, Ron, and Demelza—and Demelza is still unsure."

"Four including me, Ginny," Potter specified. "What about you and Demelza, then?"

"My vote goes to Fay Dunbar as well," Ginny said, but Lavender noticed how unhappy she sounded.

"Great." Potter nodded, now definitely looking triumphant. "Demelza?"

"Yes, yes, I vote for Fay, too, then. I mean, I've seen her fly, she's not bad," the Robins girl said hastily.

"See, Fay?" Potter asked, turning to Dunbar, who appeared dazed by the outcome of the voting. "Everybody wants you on the team."

Lavender didn't linger there to listen to McLaggen, who had started protesting soundly against Potter's apparent favouritism towards his classmates.

She and Parvati had a lot to talk about; most importantly, they had to discuss the beginnings of a certain development they'd just seen.

Quickly, the girls ran upstairs while the dormitory was still empty.

"Did you see that?" Lavender asked excitedly. "That look in Potter's eyes?! He was really holding on to her... like he couldn't lose her. Merlin, it's so—"

"Romantic?" Parvati supplied, guessing Lav's thoughts.

"Yeah. I wish Ron would look at me like that."

"All right, one step at a time," Parvati cautioned, knowing that Lavender had a weakness for romance. "First of all, their relationship is not like that at all. Fay and Potter have merely done some patrolling together."

"Nonsense," Lavender snorted. "They may not realise it yet, but they like each other, I can tell. Besides, better Fairy than the Weaselette..."

"As friends," Parvati intoned. "They like each other _as friends,_ nothing mo... Hang on, what was that? What about the female Weasley? She's with Dean."

Lavender grinned like a Cheshire Cat**. **

"Oh my, Parvati, you really haven't been paying attention, have you?" she asked, amused. "Things between the Weaselette and Dean aren't exactly smooth. He's too mature for her, I think. He's a half-blood; he's been exposed to two cultures simultaneously, and he reasons on an entirely different level... She looks stupid next to him and doesn't like it at all. Potter, on the other hand, has become very good-looking over the summer. He's got taller, and people call him the 'Chosen One'. It's not difficult to see how the female Weasley has rediscovered him."

"I see," Parvati mused. "If that's true, she's bound to see Fay as a threat. I guess their fight with Potter works really well for the Weaselette..."

"Yes, but look—I think they'll make it up, and then the Weaselette will have a smart rival to face."

"No, Lav." Parvati shook her head. "Fay is not the kind of witch who will fight for her wizard. She will leave him alone."

"Aw, Pav, where is your romantic spirit? Everything's possible yet!"

Parvati smiled. "All right, let's be objective, then. In my opinion, a romance between them is possible, but Potter will end up with the female Weasley anyway. I mean, look at her: she's sassy, confident, cute, she plays Quidditch well, and she has all the makings of a leader. Ginny Weasley can be the second in command and take over the team when Potter's unavailable. Potter's bound to fall for that. Fay, on the other hand, merely sees Potter as a fellow investigator or something. She doesn't even think of romance—and sadly, just like Granger, she doesn't know how to use her feminine charms."

Lavender pursed her lips. "I think Dunbar _does_ stand a chance. She's the kind of person who will listen before making any kind of decision or judging anyone. She'd be good for Potter. Ginevra, on the other hand, is... eh, too domineering. She's horrible to Dean—I think she's taken after her mother. I've seen the way Mrs Weasley treated her husband in public, and I was absolutely shocked. She didn't have second thoughts about humiliating him in front of countless other people. The youngest Weasley has the same tendencies, I can already tell."

"Lav, boys are not like that," Parvati reasoned. "They easily fall for looks and sass. Besides, Ginevra, too, can yet mature."

"I still like Fairy better," Lavender insisted. "I'm betting on her to win."

"_Betting_ on her to win?" Parvati smiled. "Do we have a bet going?"

Before the girls could agree on the terms of their bet, though, the door swung open, and in came none other than Dunbar herself.

"Listen, Parvati," she started, addressing the Indian girl. "Look, I really appreciate what you did for me this morning, but could you please do me one more favour?"

"Sure, what is it?" Parvati asked.

"Could you cover up for me in Transfiguration tomorrow? I might be late to class tomorrow morning, and you know how strict Minerva is."

"No problem, but why should you be late?" Parvati asked, wincing at the sight of Dunbar destroying her masterpiece of a hairstyle by gathering all her hair in a ponytail.

"I'm going to spend the night in the library—there's something I need to look into."

"In the library?" Lavender repeated, joining the conversation.

The blonde girl noticed that Fay and Parvati exchanged a glance before Parvati answered Fay's unvoiced question.

"I told Lav about the dodgy people thing so that she'd know, but we promise it'll stay between us. If you want, we'll give you an Oath of Secrecy."

"I won't tell anyone, I swear. Pav and I may gossip about people a little bit, but we never betray people's trust," Lavender assured Fay, wanting the girl to trust her, too.

"All right, then," Fay agreed. "I'm spending this night in the library because I need to look into a few things. Please cover up for me, will you?"

Lavender nodded, but Parvati wasn't pleased. "Fay, I thought the thing you had with Potter was over."

"It _is_ over," Dunbar assured her. "But it doesn't mean that no more accidents will happen despite the security measures. The mission needs to go on with or without Harry! I am not about to stay indifferent when I can do something."

"Very well, then," Parvati agreed hesitantly, wishing Fay were more careful this time.

As the door behind Dunbar closed again, Parvati sighed.

"You know what, Lav?" she said. "Maybe you're right—maybe something _is_ possible between those two. I mean, they're both kind of stubborn and full of principles. The bet is on."

"Great," Lavender cried out, jumping with excitement. "The bet is on, then."

* * *

**AN**: So, dear readers, are in on a bet as well? Let me know in the review box.

A tight hug and enormous "thanks" to my dear beta **Tarpeia** for having managed to work through this chapter on a very short notice and to the rest of you, beautiful people, take Parvati's advice and rock those rich and deep colours if you have a great tan or if you are just blessed to have a darker shade of complexion. Parvati knows a lot about beauty :)

Most importantly, just enjoy these beautiful summer days because some people (like me) are injured and can't afford such luxury, so here you go - a reason to be positive.

Best!


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